


The Miracle Of Second Chances

by Q_Drew



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: CW: Background Child Death, CW: Brief Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Community: sshg_giftfest, Coworkers/Partners, Department of Mysteries, EWE, F/M, Friendship, Pining, Post DH, Post Hogwarts, Shameless Hollywood Name Dropping, Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Unspeakable Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22079443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Q_Drew/pseuds/Q_Drew
Summary: One beautiful August morning a Wizarding aristocrat bumbles on to a film set production centring on the Voldemort Conflict.  Unspeakables Granger & Snape are forced together to suss out the origins of such a dastardly affront to the Statute of Secrecy.  As their investigation and relationship deepens, however, they discover that sometimes miraculous second chances come at a cost.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 204
Kudos: 259
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members, sshg_giftfest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lena1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lena1987/gifts).



> This fic was posted at the [2019 SSHG Gift Fest](https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com/) in its entirety as a gift for [Lena1987](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6479652/lena1987). If the weekly updates prove too taxing, head over there for a look. This story's prompt is at the bottom of the first chapter.
> 
> Expect updates every Thursday.
> 
> This is rated M for language and content. Take heed of the warnings in the tags for later chapters. 
> 
> I welcome comments, kudos, bookmarks, and shrill screaming. I’m mostly friendly and can be found on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/q-drew).
> 
> To the village that helped pull this massive undertaking together, my gratitude will never be enough. My alpha [80sPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/80sPop/pseuds/80sPop), my betas [Ms_Anthrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop), [FawkesyLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady), and [Hold_en](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hold_en/pseuds/Hold_en). Obviously, any mistakes remaining at this point are absolutely mine.
> 
> Finally, to my friends on discord, thanks for always having my back. ❤️

\---

“Miracles were just second chances if you really thought about it - second chances when all hope was lost.” - Kaya McLaren

\---

“What do you mean I have to work with Snape?” Hermione Granger snapped at her boss, Dottie Murphy, while they lunched together in the Ministry’s overcrowded and loud canteen.

“Keep your voice down,” Murphy hissed from across the tiny round table.

“Is this why you were so insistent on having lunch here in the cafeteria?” Hermione seethed, her grimace displaying all of her teeth. Yes, Hermione had been ignoring Murphy’s missives but to stoop so low to use the much-anticipated Pasty Cart Day against her felt like an unscrupulous attack. Hermione found herself cursing her stomach’s demands for a cheese-filled pasty, and not for the first time in this lifetime either.

“What? Of course not.” Murphy’s blue eyes slid away from Hermione’s to study a spot on the wall intently. “Can’t a boss just invite one of her charges out to -” Murphy sighed heavily, and grumbled something that was lost amongst the workplace chatter before crossing her arms. “Fine!” she blurted out. “Yes, I couldn’t count on you to not walk away -”

Hermione halted mid-rise.

“- nor could I trust you to not make a scene.”

“I don’t make scenes!” Hermione cried, gathering the attention of several other Ministry employees from the surrounding tables; their conversations and cutlery stopping abruptly.

“Sit your arse down, Granger,” Murphy scolded quietly.

Irritated, Hermione sat heavily and pushed her tray away suddenly losing her appetite. She’d admit she has had a few rough months professionally. If she were being honest with herself, it all started to go to pot after the heartbreaking outcome of the assignment in Lancaster the previous August. She still hadn’t forgiven that harebrained Carr for not following protocol and losing a key witness for a week. Since then, Hermione had little satisfaction from her work with the Department; it more closely resembling her idea of hell because it was one mundane errand after another. Worse, every partner she'd been forced to work with made her lose a little more faith in her fellow Wizarding kind, as she had no idea as to how such a string of muffin-headed ninnyhammers had ever been accepted to the prestigious Department of Mysteries. _This_ , though, felt like a punishment she hadn’t yet deserved. Hermione whined, “I don’t want to work with him. You can’t make me.”

A crooked smile slid across Murphy’s face. “Oh, but I can.”

Hermione’s glare could have killed an Acromantula at twenty paces but somehow Murphy was peskily immune to it. “I concede,” Hermione began slowly, “that while you _can_ , because you’re my boss, you still wouldn’t do this to me.”

“And why not?”

Hermione’s voice became more shrill as she went on, “Because you - you - you’re my friend! And friends don’t force friends to work with caustic bastards!”

Weary, Murphy sighed. “Look, Hermione -”

Hermione cut her off harshly, “No, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use my name. I won’t do this. No matter if you drop the Granger as if you’re asking me a personal favour.” She leaned away from Murphy, distancing herself from the conversation the only way she could.

“Look,” Murphy repeated. “This _is_ a personal favour. Nobody else will work with him.”

In any other circumstance, her admission would have made Hermione chuckle darkly. Snape had developed quite a reputation for being completely insufferable to work alongside over the last several years. “And how is that my problem?”

“Ever since the Windereme Kelpie Riot the Ministry has mandated that everyone must be accompanied in the field, you know that.”

Hermione shuddered, recalling the group of Unspeakables that they were unable to retrieve from the lake; presumably, they had been either drowned horrifically, or transformed into kelpies themselves. Her ire began to deflate, the emotion draining out of her voice, “I have yet to see how Snape not working well with others is _my_ problem.”

“Because -” Murphy leaned in closer and whispered, “Because nobody else is willing to work with you either.”

Hermione’s anger rebounded. “WHAT?” she yelled as she stood straight up, attracting the attention of several more Ministry members than before.

“ _Sit down_ ,” Murphy hissed, waving her hands at the others in a desperate attempt to clear the air of the attention that Hermione was bringing to their table.

Instead of returning to her seat Hermione splayed her hands on the surface between them and leaned down into Murphy’s space, her wild, curly hair sparking in a warning. Hermione’s voice was careful but acidic when she asked, “And what exactly do you mean by _that_?”

“This,” Murphy responded simply, her gaze tired. “Nobody,” she waved around the room before gesturing back to Hermione. “Wants to work with all of _this_.”

Hermione took pride in her self-confidence, but the criticism stung. She’d admit her patience had been considerably shorter for idiots disguised as colleagues, but certainly, she hadn’t exhausted the entire Unspeakable Employee Roster. No matter if it was an exaggeration or not, Hermione didn’t like the implications of it. She lowered herself slowly to her seat and then smoothed her hair down from its Medusa-like state. Biting her thumbnail, Hermione asked, “And that’s relevant to me working with Snape because?”

Murphy was quiet for a moment as she planned her words carefully. “You’re just as difficult to work with as Snape is. Neither of you has received a decent partner evaluation for over six months. You really need a good one - Bates is at the end of his patience now - and there isn’t anyone else available to give you this chance.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes skyward. Wasn’t the quality of her work enough? Didn’t Hermione do what was asked of her and often times more? Why was a bloody fucking evaluation about her compatibility as a team player so important? And why did that matter at all to the Department of Mysteries Head Rowan _Fucking_ Bates?

“And if I refuse to work with Snape, or _worse_ , receive another bad evaluation?” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“It’s simple,” Murphy said, finally returning to her once warm cornish pasty. “You’re fired.”

“ _WHAT_ -” Hermione yelled, standing up again, hair once more becoming unwieldy; the curls twisting into sinister-like shapes as it winded towards the woman sitting across the table.

“FOR THE FINAL TIME, _SIT DOWN_!” Murphy bellowed, attracting the attention of not only the Ministry employees on the far side of the room, who up to that point were leisurely enjoying their imported lamingtons and Tim Tams, but also the people in the conference space across the corridor from the canteen. Indeed, enough of a stink was being made that their workmates sitting at adjacent tables suddenly realised that they were all running late for important appointments, and were abandoning their trays in their haste to get out of the line of fire.

Hermione lowered herself back in her seat across from Murphy. Her jaw cracked under the pressure of her gritted teeth and her hair flounced into belligerent compliance. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Murphy asked surprised.

“Yes,” Hermione hissed. “Fine. I’ll do the blasted assignment with Snape. However, I don’t believe he’ll give me any praise on my evaluation so I might as well start looking for work as a Flobberworm Milker, or something equally as important.”

Murphy took a bite of her pasty. “I wouldn’t go that far, Granger.”

“And why the bloody fuck not?” she asked, annoyance blooming in her voice. 

“Because Snape is under the same pressure as you are. He also needs a good evaluation to stay afloat. Odds are that he’d write you a good one if you return the favour. That’s all I need to show Bates. He doesn’t need to know that it was under duress.”

“So basically, your tactic to guarantee this success is to put your two most desperate people on a team together and hope we don’t kill each other?”

Murphy shrugged carelessly. “Yes.”

“Your Hufflepuffian managerial style leaves a lot to be desired,” Hermione grumbled. 

“Interesting,” Murphy said as she stood with her empty tray. “Snape said the same thing. At the very least I can say that I am consistent.”

“And what did _he_ think of this?”

Murphy began to walk away to dispose of her tray at the washing station. Over her shoulder she said, “He actually took it better than you, if one can credit it.”

\---

Hermione rapped on the door of the tiny conference room before entering. This particular row of conference rooms was available exclusively for Unspeakables to privately analyse research, discuss covert assignments, and work on their incommunicable devices. The only downside to the privacy was that the rooms were always in high demand, and therefore could only be reserved for fifteen minutes at a time. They’d have to make this little tête-à-tête brief.

Upon her admittance into the room she noted that Snape was casually standing behind the chair at the other side of the table. His stance was surprisingly relaxed, one hand’s long fingers were curled loosely over the backrest as he watched her enter. This was unexpected; Hermione had anticipated that he would be a bit more miffed about this working arrangement.

“Snape,” Hermione greeted evenly, unsure if this was a trap, as she shut the door behind her. 

“Granger,” Snape said with a small tip of his head as he fanned out some papers from a folder across the table.

Carefully, she began, “I suppose you already know that -”

“We are two of the most detested members of the staff?” Snape finished curtly, his shoulders suddenly growing stiff.

“I wasn’t going to go that far but -”

“And what dripping Gryffindor sentiment are you going to supply there?” His voice rose an octave as he mocked her, “Let it roll off your back Snape, you’re still a hero?”

Hermione’s ire flashed through her. “No. I was going to agree with you, you giant git, and promise to write you a fair evaluation quid pro quo.”

Snape spun around, his outer robe billowing eerily similar to how it did at Hogwarts nearly two decades ago. He walked over to the windows overlooking the Ministry’s inner courtyard. Snape bent slightly, angling himself to better look up into the sky. His dark silhouette cut across the glare of the sun filtering into the room. 

Bewildered, she muttered, “What are you doing?”

Still facing the window, his hands gripping the sill, Snape uttered, “A Gryffindor not only agreed with me before I had to literally perform self-defenestration but also is willing to hoodwink an authority figure. I was wondering if pigs had really started to fly.”

Without missing a beat Hermione said, “Only if you go to Ms Szimonetta’s Olde Fashioned Petting Zoo. She enjoys porcine entertainment. Dresses them in fairy costumes, I think. Honestly, I try not to look out the window when she starts, I don’t want to give her the attention.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment without a reaction. Slowly, Snape turned around to face Hermione again, an eyebrow raised. “I can’t tell if you’re being facetious and that unnerves me.”

Hermione felt a little powerful - a little more in control - because she had thrown Snape off by playing _with_ him rather than against him. Was that all that needed to be done to ensure a camaraderie with the man?

She shrugged and smirked. “She’s my neighbour in Richmond.” Before picking up a photograph on the table, Hermione lowered her voice and whispered conspiratorially, “To be fair, she only does costumes on the weekends.” Hermione’s smile slipped away as she began to flip through several photos of familiar faces. “Why are there headshots of famous Muggle actors in this file?” Included in the photographs was a drawing by an Auror Sketch Artist that looked quite similar to one of the actors.

“People of interest,” Snape said without explanation as he folded his lean frame in the chair across from her.

“That’s a succinct way of putting it,” Hermione remarked. She moved to slide the case file out of the folder laying on the table between them, but Snape snatched it away first. “Haven’t you ever heard of chivalry?” her tone cutting.

“That would imply that you’re a lady,” Snape said snidely as his dark eyes danced across the form. “ _Ladies_ generally don’t set people on fire, people - I’ll have you mind - that were attempting to save the pyromaniac’s best friend, nor do they ingest amateur potions made in a toilet, and they most definitely do not hex an acquaintance at a quarterly departmental meeting.”

Hermione huffed and leaned over the table. With two fingers she plucked the paper out of his hands. Ignoring his rising aggravation, she muttered, “Then, it sounds like you’ve never been in the presence of a _lady_ before now.”

Snape snorted. “I’m sure Narcissa would be insulted by that.”

“Good,” Hermione replied bluntly. “She is a turnip toff of the worst kind and a…” but she trailed off as she read through the case file’s details.

_**Request for Additional Support: Department of Mysteries, Ninth Floor**  
**Witness:** Madam Ophelia Price, Distinguished Gentlewoman of Elite class and of the Macmillan family  
**Date of Initial Report:** 19 July 2018  
**Nature of Complaint:** Public Disturbance  
**Location of Incident:** Gracechurch Street, London (cross street Leadenhall)  
**Description of Incident:** Price claims she saw someone dressed in Wizarding robes outside of Diagon Alley in the middle of London. [See enclosed sketch.] Price attempted to approach, to chastise the unfamiliar man for drawing so much attention to himself, but then a Muggle began to “follow him with a boxed lensed machine that displayed the image of the unknown man on a flat device being held by another man”. Price fears that magic has been discovered and is concerned about the quality of the Fidelius Charm over Diagon Alley.  
**Additional Notes:** After multiple stakeouts, it has been discovered that Price stumbled on to a Muggle film set. There are several Muggle actors and actresses [see enclosed photographs] physically similar to key players of the Voldemort Conflict from 20 years ago. An elaborate set resembling Diagon Alley and its shops has been reconstructed near the Elstree & Borehamwood Tube Station behind moderate Muggle surveillance. It is assumed other Wizarding locations have been replicated in a similar fashion.  
**Reasons for Additional Support:** The repercussions of a breach in the Statute of Secrecy to this extent is unheard of and would cause panic amongst the Wizarding population. I request a DoM investigation to flesh out specifics and the persons responsible.  
**Signature of Reporting Officer:** Anthony Cox, Junior Auror  
**Signature of Supervising Officer:** Harry Potter, Head Auror, Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
**Date Signed:** 03 August 2018_

“Well, fuck me,” Hermione breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story unravelled from this prompt: _"Swish-n-flix, the latest wizarding entertainment company, is producing a modern film on the wizarding war, now over by 20 years. Everything is kept hush-hush due to iron-clad confidentiality agreements. But wasn’t that Keanu Reeves striding down Diagon Alley in billowing black robes? Ed Sheeran in a Weasley jumper? Is that supposed to be Granger? And Idris Elba doesn’t usually wear Shacklebolt-esque hats… Whatever happened to the bloody Statute of Secrecy? Two Unspeakables with far better things to do are put on the case."_


	2. Chapter 2

Someone knocked rapidly on the other side of the door startling the pair seated at the table. “Oy,” an irritated voice rang out. “Your time has been up for three minutes. You’re cutting into mine, you berks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and spun in her chair to address their coworker. However, before she could, Snape called around her, “I’ve reserved this space until half-past three.”

The other voice complained, “Like I said, mate, you’re three minutes over.”

Snape raised his hand to the wall clock above the room’s memo board forcing the minute hand to tick back several minutes. “According to the clock here,” his rich baritone rang out, “we have five minutes left.”

Catching Hermione’s eye, Snape tipped his head towards the door and rose an eyebrow mischievously. Some warmth shot through Hermione; she felt like she was in on an inside joke. Something she hadn’t been genuinely privy to since her school days. _When was the last time I playfully bantered with someone?_ Weeks? Months? Hermione couldn’t remember. She decided to compartmentalise this twinge of loneliness for later, maybe drown it away in a glass of red tonight.

Impatiently, their colleague smacked the door. “Then that clock is wrong.”

“Perhaps your timepiece is incorrect?” Hermione countered sweetly, smirking back at Snape. The smile he returned was dark and roguish.

Snape’s eyes glittered in amusement when the other Unspeakable retorted, “I cast a _Tempus_!”

Snape responded, “Sounds like you may need to go to the Medi-station to have your magic tuned.”

“Belby’s Lethifold, Snape, just open the door! Winston and I have work to do.”

“And you will have the room when our time is up.” Snape then cast a _Silencio_ over the door, submerging the small conference room in near-perfect silence.

Ignoring the muffled pounding on the door, Snape turned his attention back to Hermione. Wickedly, he asked, “How long do you think we can draw this out for?”

Hermione flushed at ‘ _we_ ’. She felt a glimmer of pleasure knowing he was feeling similarly chuffed at their colluding.

“Probably just two more minutes. No doubt they’ve already run to get Murphy.”

“Always running to Mummy, that lot.” Snape hummed, the sound reverberating around the small space. He leaned his elbows on the table, hiding half his face behind steepled pale fingers. “Did she threaten you with unemployment as well?”

Hermione nodded, her curls twisting in indignation. “I was serious about writing you a dazzling evaluation, by the way.”

A hint of an upturned lip peeked out from behind his hands. “If I write one in return, I take it?”

“That’s generally how these types of arrangements work, Snape,” Hermione answered.

“Us against the world, eh, Granger?” After a moment's pause he said low, “There are worse things to be involved in. Like administration, for example.”

“You know, for all the things that Hufflepuffs are known for, running roughshod certainly isn’t one of them,” Hermione muttered, referencing Murphy.

“Helga was responsible for the Sorting Hat,” Snape said pensively. “There is a subtle ribbon of patronisation laced throughout that house, if you know where to look.”

Hermione scrunched her nose at Snape’s assessment. “The hat is evidence of that?”

Snape sat for a moment, looking at her distractedly, as if he was remembering a faraway memory. His voice low he said, “Albus was right about one thing: they sort too soon.”

Before Hermione could respond, Snape stood and began to stack the papers, his long fingers easily slipping them into the muted-yellow folder. Hermione glanced at the clock as she rose to her feet. Their time had run out again.

The pair stood for several seconds together in front of the door. Snape gave her an oblique glance. Then an insidious smile slowly slid across his face.

“Ready for this, Granger?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. The question felt heavy like a query on an exam, and her heart began to race.

Hoping she was interpreting it correctly Hermione replied, “To greet our adoring public, you mean?”

Chuckling, he nodded towards her before stepping to the door and opening it easily. On the other side was Cassius Lane, red-faced and gesturing wildly one-handed to an exasperated Murphy. A suspiciously wet and slippery looking Jarvey was held in his other hand. Lane turned at the sound of the door opening.

“This is a communal space!” Lane screeched as he barrelled past them. Unsurprisingly, the Jarvey hissed a string of curses at them that would have even impressed Ron. The door slammed behind Lane, the sound causing several heads to pop up over the cubicles at the end of the hall.

Murphy’s gaze snagged on the pair. Aggravated, she ground out, “You two are already on thin ice here. Must you exacerbate the situation with such puerile games?”

Snape glided over and stared down at her from his long nose. “We’re well within the parameters you’ve set, Murphy.” Hermione caught on to his meaning immediately. Oh, _this_ was going to be good. Her brain let out a mental _whoop_ at the forthcoming entertainment.

Murphy huffed. “Antagonising Lane and Winston -”

Hermione slid to Snape’s side. Excessively saccharine, she elaborated, “Ah, but Murphy, it’s not Lane’s evaluation that our continued employment hinges upon, is it?”

Suddenly, Murphy’s folly became apparent to her and she paled. Hermione figured that Murphy had counted on placing the two Unspeakables together with the idea that they might feel brow-beaten into behaving, that the pair would play the part of two desperate people trying to keep their jobs. It was obvious that she had been hoping that they would lower their heads to not cause trouble, and do the work required before moving on to greener pastures. However, it became glaringly apparent to Hermione that while her friend - and she really did care for her former cubicle mate as a friend - meant well, she had made a grave error. Murphy had put together two bitter people who had come to realise in the last several minutes that they enjoyed provoking others together - especially if the daft pillocks had earned it. Her boss had certainly not counted on the two of them getting on in such a fashion. _Maybe there is something to this entire partner business after all_ , Hermione decided.

Snape’s voice lowered and his tone burned, “A successfully completed case and one positive partner evaluation, those were the stipulations you’ve set.”

“And so far,” Hermione said smugly, enjoying the discomfort filtering over Murphy’s face, “Snape has been quite the _amenable_ partner.”

Then the pair left a shocked-still Murphy to walk away together down the hall to the massive work-floor. There were two such rooms like this on their floor, sized about the same as Hogwarts’ Great Hall, holding rows upon rows of cubicles full of dithering and busy Unspeakables. The ceiling was even charmed similarly; however, it was spelled to always be sunny and it never dimmed lower than twilight at night. Throwing out several glares at staring colleagues along the way, they finally navigated to Hermione’s workspace.

Snape turned to her, the corner of his mouth upturned. “How do you feel about crashing a film set tomorrow, Granger?”

Hermione hummed as she tapped her chin with a finger thoughtfully. “Enthralled. Do you think I could get an autograph of myself?”

He chuckled. “Meet first thing in the morning in the atrium?”

“Yes, that would be fine,” Hermione replied as she sat in her chair. She had a few loose ends to wrap up from her previous assignment - dull surveys of Unicorn breeding grounds - before heading home later this afternoon. “Muggle clothing?”

“Naturally.” Snape’s deep voice rolled over the ‘l’s in his deliberate slow draw. Hermione, to her great shock, found it to be particularly intriguing.

Hermione looked down at her desk and blinked several times trying to decipher why those pesky letter ‘l’s were suddenly categorised as _delightful_ in her mind. She had heard the man speak before, had even sat through hours of lectures where the only teaching tool Snape employed was his voice. However, she was only a child then. _So_ , she thought, _I’ve never really had the chance to view him through an adult’s lens before now, have I?_ Feeling increasingly awkward for dropping the conversation, she called to Snape as he began to walk away to his own workspace, “Oh, and Snape?”

He turned to her and raised a thin eyebrow, responding to her question nonverbally.

Feeling herself coming back to centre Hermione parlayed, “I like my coffee with milk.”

Snape’s smirk curled a fraction higher. “And mine, black.”

He continued on his way to his cubicle in the adjoining large workroom without looking back. Hermione hummed brightly for several minutes as she looked over her maps. She hadn’t been this happy at work in… she couldn’t recall, it was that rare. It was satisfying to poke holes through Murphy’s ultimatum. Even better still to be able to act out her frustrations over their asinine colleagues with a willing and qualified cohort. Several more minutes of quiet bliss passed before Audrey Carr and her vibrant blonde hair popped up over their adjoining partition.

“You and Snape?” Carr asked, bug-eyed through her dark glasses.

Immediately annoyed at the interruption into her good mood Hermione snapped, “And what of it?”

Carr shrunk back a bit. “What was Murphy thinking putting the two of you together? You’re both testy on a good day. But together? You’re bloody terrifying. We’ll be lucky if the Ministry is left standing.” Hermione internally shuddered at her use of ‘bloody’, the word sounding unnatural in Carr’s American accent.

Hermione snarled, “I suppose you should have thought of the future ramifications of me being partnerless, Carr, before you went whinging to Murphy the last time we worked together.”

“You set my reports on fire!” Carr exclaimed hotly.

“You let a witness slip away!” Hermione shot back. “It took a week to track them back down. Meanwhile, we had a ten-year-old sitting in St Mungos the entire time, suffering horribly from the effects of an unknown curse. So, no Carr, I am not particularly sympathetic to your misgivings about me and Snape.”

Carr rolled her eyes. “Well, at the very least, could the two of you meet somewhere else that isn’t here near my desk?” She lowered her voice, “He makes me uncomfortable.”

At this Hermione stood and fingered her wand. “Listen,” she said as she stepped against the partition, her hair crinkling menacingly. “I don’t give a flying fuck if he makes you uncomfortable.” Hermione curled her fingers around the top of the cubicle, edging even further into Carr’s space. “You may not fully appreciate it, growing up across the pond, but he sacrificed a third of his life for this world and he’s my partner now.” She chuckled darkly, her teeth flashing. “And I won’t let you make any sort of comment like _that_ again in his presence.”

Feebly, probably far more than they’d like, Carr responded, “You don’t scare me, Granger.”

“Don’t I?” Hermione asked grimly, her voice thick and raw as her magic surged.

“No,” the other woman said looking away. Carr sat down in her chair, scooting it to the other side of her workspace, and flipped her hair over her shoulder in a failed attempt to show indifference. “You don’t.”

“You were always a terrible liar, Carr.”

“At least I don’t set my colleague’s work on fire,” Carr muttered lamely opening a file on her desk.

Hermione grit out the reminder as her blood began to boil, “A _child_. He was a child, Carr. Why your mistake didn’t make you as angry as me is a testament to the flaws in your character, not mine.”

After Hermione thudded back into her chair she cast a _Muffliato_ , and yelled in frustration over the reminder of that little boy’s suffering until she was hoarse.

\---

Later that night, after a dinner of takeaway curry, Hermione sat herself down at her small desk in her minuscule office with a glass of red wine. The flat listing had advertised this postage-stamp-sized room just off her bedroom as ‘flexible use’. It was too big for a closet (although Lavender had disagreed, ‘Think of the shoe storage, Hermione!’) but it was still slightly too tiny for anything more than some office furniture and a desk (‘Or a crib,’ Ginny had said with wiggly eyebrows when Hermione had moved in five years ago.).

Her river-view flat in Richmond may have been modest in layout, but it wasn’t in rent. Like her office space, the living area was a touch too small. Only enough room for a loveseat, matching chair, and a miniature coffee table in front of a compact telly resting on a magically expanded bookcase. There was no room for a proper table so Hermione was forced to eat meals at the breakfast bar. Her only regret was that she lacked floo access. She had, at first, desired privacy in contrast to the flexibility of people popping their heads in for casual, short conversations. But without a floo, her friends were now forced to send owls carrying their missives, even if they were only one or two sentences. Irritatingly, this also meant she found herself scraping owl droppings off her balcony several times throughout the week.

Hermione adored her safe little bolthole where she could write letters, research, and work on all manner of obligations in peace, all with a beautiful view of the Thames just off her lounge. Hermione could gaze out the french doors while cooking (when she bothered to cook, that was) and see the boats zip by. Indeed, when she was enjoying her morning coffee on the terrace on the rare day when the sun sparkled across the water, it felt exceedingly opulent, especially after living in grim inner-city London flats prior. Perhaps it was a bit posh, but Hermione was nearly forty. Shouldn’t she allow herself an indulgence - something _nice_ \- by now?

Hermione rolled her neck. Sullen, she sighed remembering her workday. She was surprised at how easily she fell into step next to Snape this afternoon when she joined him in provoking their colleagues. It had turned out to be incredibly satisfying to be matched with a fellow Unspeakable who could keep up with her quick-thinking and shared a liberal use of sharp-wit.

Snape wasn’t what Hermione had expected. His biting remarks during staff meetings were legendary, and not even she had escaped unscathed from the occasional skirmish. However, their meeting was actually something she’d closely describe as _fun_. Maybe Snape just hadn’t been paired appropriately until now? Or perhaps Hermione was taking advantage of his capricious nature to further her own selfish need to lash out? _But_ , she thought, _being paired with Snape is really the beginning of the end, isn’t it?_ After all, the odds that anybody would work with her after this were growing slimmer by the hour... especially if Hermione continued to gleefully burn all her bridges.

She could be mature about this entire thing, she supposed. Everyone at one point or another had a bad year of assignments at the Ministry. But Hermione was beyond burnt out and the temptation to continue on this destructive path called to her like a siren. The suffering of the Lancaster child had dwelled heavily on her mind for almost an entire year, his mother’s horrified, broken face haunting her dreams. The least Hermione could give herself in compensation was a satisfying exit - her version of the Weasley twins’ departure during her fifth year. She may have already been half-way there if the saying about the best light coming from burning bridges had any kernels of truth to it. Besides, she has had a contingency plan in place for a while now; ministerial employment could soon be exceptionally unnecessary.

She took a long sip of her wine and swirled the liquid in her glass. Gathering her courage to cement her future prospects of (un)employment, she used a biro to quickly hash out a note on lined paper.

_My time here is short. It’s time for my cut. Meet at F &B at noon on Saturday._

_-H_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout the work I name drop four fic titles of [Lena1987's](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/6479652/lena1987). The first one occurs in this chapter. Can you spot them all?

If someone were to ask Severus why he was sitting at one of the small tables in the deserted atrium with two takeaway coffees, he wouldn’t have been able to explain. It was a well-known fact that Severus Snape did _not_ fetch coffee. Yet, it seemed unduly rude to only get himself his preferred blend and leave Granger uncaffeinated. Moreover, if yesterday’s show of temper was any indication, it might be dangerous; staying on Granger’s good side would be beneficial for a day of surreptitious investigating.

He crossed his legs, picked some lint off his black denim trousers, and then glanced at the levitating clock at the apex of the atrium’s vaulted ceiling. It read a quarter to eight. Severus took several sips of his coffee. Arriving early was a risk since Granger tended to err on the side of precociousness. However, Severus was pleased that he had won the gamble, and it looked like he’d have some time to himself before her arrival. Frankly, he wanted the time to mull through the recent events and best chart a course of action.

Severus had seen Granger around the Department of Mysteries routinely in the last decade that they’d both been employed there. They had been fresh hires within the same quarter, and had done most of their onboard training together. And yet, even though they had since given each other acknowledging nods in the corridors, knew where each other’s cubicles were located, and sat near each other in staff meetings, they had never requested or been assigned to work together. It seemed easier to simply avoid bridging the gap of their past rather than hash it out over tea like he was forced to do with Minerva. Those protracted and lugubrious conversations were enough to put him off repeating it with any other Gryffindor. But now, both branded as outcasts, he and Granger were being forced to team up or else lose their jobs.

Severus didn’t much care for gossip, being the subject of it for so many years. However, old habits were hard to break, and he found himself listening in corners more often than not. Starting the previous September, Severus had begun to hear through the infuriating office grapevine that Granger had become increasingly volatile, someone and something to avoid at all costs. Curiosity inexplicably piqued about Granger’s perceived fall from grace, Severus had enquired impertinently about the active assignments at the time. But he annoyingly found himself a security level or two below those who were privy to that information forcing him to let it go. It wasn’t as if he could just approach Granger and ask what happened. They didn’t have much of a rapport to lean on. Despite his dark reputation, Severus wasn’t actually a sadomasochist. He actively avoided any situations where he would be hexed, as it was in his best interests to do so.

But yesterday when he finally had the opportunity to test the rumour? Severus had purposefully set himself up to goad Granger, to see how fast he could push before she flared in fury. At the worst, it would have given him a good chance to test his reflexes. But instead, she had agreed with his assessment almost immediately, momentarily throwing him. It appeared that Granger wasn’t the whispered-about hellcat; she was confident and brazen, yes, as well as still driven by a sense of justice, exactly as her lion-mascoted house prescribed. The grown-up Granger was a witch who wasn’t taking prisoners or humouring fools, and didn’t care if she stepped on a few toes. But it was still surprising how much her reputation had sunk, and he wondered just how much mores had changed if her general attitude towards life was being viewed as uncouth and undesirable. 

Indeed, Severus had genuinely enjoyed winding Lane up with Granger yesterday. They made an immensely satisfying double act. He hadn’t had that sort of privilege for several years since things had gone sour with Minerva, and even those pleasant memories were tainted by the ugly smear of Severus’ brief tenure as Headmaster. That particular year had been spent living solely on adrenaline, coffee, and insomnia. Severus had been hyper-focused on constantly sabotaging the Carrows, while fielding the betrayed moans of his colleagues. He had even reverted back to a boyhood nightly habit and began to pray again. Never for himself, but for all the souls Severus could not save, and those he hoped would survive past that May. 

A sharp snap of a near-perfect Apparition echoed around the slowly filling atrium. Just in time too, as the memories of that god-awful period began to push aggressively against his Occlumentic shields. Severus swivelled his eyes over to the Apparition circle with relief, automatically standing to greet the woman walking over to him.

Severus’ gaze worked from the bottom up as Granger strode across the room. Imprudently, but not to his surprise, she was dressed more for the summer weather rather than the business of a cloak-and-dagger venture. Granger was wearing some sort of strappy sensible-looking shoe and a pale mid-length sleeved dress the colour of decanted Dreamless Sleep. Her hands were settled in the dress’ pockets, where no doubt a wand was hidden. Remembering Granger’s predilection towards accoutrement-specific expansion charms, Severus wouldn’t be surprised if she were concealing several items there. Granger’s feral hair was let loose down her back, and the sunlight filtering through the atrium’s skylights made her honey-coloured locks look like they had caught aflame. In perfect alignment, the dust in the air twinkled in the morning light and danced around her form as she moved forward in the space. 

With startling clarity, Severus realised that Granger had matured into a beautiful woman. As a former Professor it was difficult for him to acknowledge his students growing into adulthood. So often, in his mind’s eye, they never aged past seventeen. It had to be the Muggle clothing, he decided in an instant. It gave Granger the illusion of being a different person entirely. Dazed, he abruptly gathered he must have embarrassingly spaced out because she was suddenly standing very close - so close he could smell her; a warm vanilla that was comforting and intriguing all at once. Granger gestured to the coffee on the table.

“Is this one for me?” she asked.

Quickly finding his faculties again, Severus replied, “No, I was going to water the narcissuses with it. They do well with acid.”

Granger’s eyes danced in amusement as she took a few sips. “Neville would be scandalised.”

“Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”

Severus swiftly became aware of Granger’s eyes flicking up and down his chest. With a twisted smile she asked, “Leather? Really, Snape?”

He rolled his eyes. “And is that such a shock?”

“Well, yes,” Granger said simply, shrugging one shoulder. Then, her free hand rose to hover between them. For a disconcerting split second, Severus wondered if she was fighting the urge to run her palm down his worn jacket. Before he could decide his true thoughts on the matter, Granger continued to raise it to brush her curly disobedient hair out of her face. Severus stifled a breath of relief. He took a step back from her, to give themselves some space, before walking around her towards the exit. It took her a moment to catch up to him, walking fast to keep up with his strides. “It’s just odd to see you without your billow.”

“I’m full of surprises, Granger.” In an attempt to deflect the conversation away from his wardrobe choices Severus asked, “Does taking the Underground suit?”

“Of course,” she said. However, much to his chagrin, Granger was not to be deterred because as they passed through the doors and onto the sidewalk she asked, “And is that a Led Zeppelin shirt underneath it?”

Severus scowled at her, but Granger simply returned it with a giddy smile before they weaved through the crowds to the nearest station.

\---

The pair were forced to stand close together on the crowded tube of morning commuters. The sway of the car jostled them, continuously pushing them together and then pulling them apart on their nearly forty-minute journey.

For the life of her, Hermione couldn't quite understand why she liked being forced to stand so close to Snape; how she was almost hoping for a jolt that would cause her to enter his space. Perhaps it was because Snape had always been foreboding, so prickly in his demeanour that it was rare to get closer than a two foot radius of him. Examining the situation they were in, she saw that Snape had made it easy to slide into the curve of his body created by his casually outstretched arm that was gripping the overhead support behind her. Was he enjoying their enforced proximity as well? _No, it simply has to be a coincidence_ , she told herself, _I’m reading far too much into this_.

Even though they had agreed on Muggle clothing for this scouting mission, Hermione was surprised to see him dressed so informally. Snape was still in his customary black, which suited him immensely. It would be disconcerting if he had applied a splash of colour in his wardrobe at this late stage in the game. And that leather jacket… it smelled intoxicatingly earthy, and Hermione had wanted to slide her hand down it’s front almost immediately. She couldn’t even explain it, she had normally found leather to be morally repulsive. Thankfully, she thought she had covered for her almost-blunder rather nicely. How embarrassing it would have been to follow through and caress him in the atrium! If she would have been unable to summon a hole in the floor to swallow herself, Snape would have undoubtedly hexed her straight into the Janus Thickey Ward for such a breach of his personal space. 

Hermione glanced at Snape from the corner of her eye. Snape’s profile was particularly striking, especially as he had tied his just-beginning-to-grey hair back in a half-knot further exposing the features of his face. His large aquiline nose was prominent, but rather than being off-putting it solidly centred his face rather nicely. Something about his strong features appealed to her, but she’d have been appalled to admit it out loud. Pointedly, she also ignored her visceral reaction to his rumbling rich voice as he’d rolled over those letter ‘l’s yesterday.

Besides, this partnership was a one-off, wasn’t it? They’d never develop a truly chummy closeness in an assignment where job retention hinged on success. _Although_ , she reminded herself, _this is going to be my last assignment_. They were twenty years removed from their shared past… would anyone really care now if she were to… be _friends_ with Snape? They could certainly be _friends_ , couldn’t they? Sure, Snape was a former Spy, Death Eater, Professor, and nevermind current colleague, but none of that truly mattered anymore, did it? Yesterday had proved that the power-dynamic between them had shifted into something almost akin to equals due to age and leaving Hogwarts behind. Couldn’t she allow herself to enjoy what would be her last partnership at the Ministry?

The answer she finally settled on by the time they came to their stop at Elstree & Borehamwood was a resounding ‘yes’.

\---

The pair emerged from the Underground into a blast of hot, August morning air. The pavement was narrow, allowing just enough space for two people to walk side-by-side. After a few blocks, Hermione realised that either Snape was casting a gentle _Depulso_ on every oncoming pedestrian, or else they really didn’t mind sidestepping the pair by going into the street.

Hermione’s hair had begun to rebel almost immediately in the heat and humidity, curling outward in distress. Her thighs were growing more sticky and hot as they neared the upcoming roundabout, and she wished that she’d thought to wear a pair of shorts under her dress. Summer had never been a kind season to her, she realised morosely. After another block of trudging along, she broke the silence, “Regretting the leather yet, Snape?” 

Snape turned to her only slightly, an eyebrow raised. His tone was somehow laced with equal parts sarcasm and patience, “Magic, Granger.”

Hermione breathed out a laugh. At that moment, her eyes swivelled across the street, and forgetting herself in nosh-excitement, she grabbed Snape’s leather-clad elbow and pointed to a storefront. “Look, sushi! Lunch after?” Her tongue had already begun to salivate at the possibility. 

Snape’s steps faltered only slightly at the question, but otherwise, he kept their pace. He gave her a sceptical glance, his eyes flicking down to his elbow. Hermione realised then that she hadn’t yet removed her hand from the supple leather. Sheepish, she dropped her hand and turned her head to hide the blush she felt sweep across her cheeks. What was it about his jacket that entranced her so? _Pull yourself together, woman_ , Hermione urged herself.

“Not really a situation that calls for lunch, is it?” Snape asked.

“It could be what they call a working lunch, you know,” Hermione answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It’s just down the street, Snape. We could file it under reconnaissance. If I recall right...” she drifted off, not quite certain if she should continue. Nervous about his reaction at bringing up his past, Hermione said low, “If I recall right you have experience in that sort of thing.”

Snape snorted immediately which delighted her immensely. “Usually, that was done over copious amounts of alcohol in very grim conditions.”

“So, having lunch with me would be an upgrade, wouldn’t it?” Hermione questioned, turning back to him and raising her eyebrows in a challenge. 

Snape’s lips curled upward in amusement as he interlaced his hands behind his back. He was silent for several steps. “Something like that,” he finally acquiesced.

They walked in companionable silence after that, both of them sidestepping the people trotting off of the doubledeckers, curving around light posts, and admiring the renovated businesses-once-rowhouses. This stretch of highstreet was a small slice of busy, noisy commercial retailers in an otherwise heavy residential area. 

However, as they neared the roundabout, growing closer with every step to the film studio described in the Aurory report, Hermione grew increasingly nervous. There were several things the man next to her didn’t know about their assignment, and she wanted to keep it that way. To stave off her guilt, she reminded herself that even fledgeling friends could have secrets; and frankly, it was better for all concerned if Snape knew as little as possible about hers. Besides, it wasn’t as if this case was actually solvable in the traditional sense.


	4. Chapter 4

When the pair finally arrived in front of the moderately-sized Muggle film lot they loitered on the sidewalk for several minutes to hash out a plan. “How do you want to do this?” Granger asked.

Severus looked down at her, the sun springing off her dynamic hair. The light made it appear at times as dark as chocolate, and then changed to be as pale as firewhiskey. Granger’s curls strangely seemed to tighten under his appraisal. _Is it her magic_ , he wondered, _causing her hair’s pseudo-sentience?_ Severus shrugged to cover up his long stare. “The easiest method, I suppose,” he answered.

She crossed her arms and looked up at him. “And that would be?”

“Look,” Severus tipped his head towards the unadorned security booth. “It’s manned by just one person. An easy _Confundo_ and we’re in.” 

“And the CCTV?” Granger asked, a possible nervousness laced in her tone, tilting her head towards the camera hanging on the nearby pole. 

“What do you think about a full disillusioning?” 

Her tone was patient, “Probably something we should have thought about before we walked a half-mile down a busy street after using the Underground.”

Severus’ aggrieved sneer was directed at himself more than Granger’s observation. He had been uncharacteristically distracted this morning by the witch in front of him. They really should have been more discreet. Severus had been a damn good spy for two decades and should have known better. He attempted to stifle a suffering sigh regarding his negligence. 

Then, Granger reminded him, “Not to mention a _Notice-Me-Not_ only goes so far.” 

Severus sighed audibly this time, the tone of the conversation deflating. Granger was right, they’d need to do something a little more exceptional than a simple hoodwinking. He took a moment to think through the catalogue of spells that would work best on electronic equipment. Severus finally settled on one he hadn’t used since altering his father’s beloved ruddy television set in a bout of teenage anger. “I may know something.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” Severus said turning towards Granger completely and arching an eyebrow. “You know, something from my wilder and younger days.” He twirled his hand in the air, indicating that he wished to rush through the rest of the conversation. Or, specifically, any questions she incontrovertibly would have about his past.

Thankfully, Granger had truly matured since she was his interrogative student and appeared to understand his reluctance to explain further. She simply nodded without pairing a question with the gesture. “Alright then. While you do that I can grab the badges.”

“Badges?” Severus asked, the image of a yellow childhood dress-up pin floating to the front of his mind.

“They’re basically necklaces or pins. Badges can be as advanced as having a special chip in them allowing access to doors or as simple as a photo indicating the identity of the wearer.” Granger shrugged, dismissing her knowledge about the intricacies of Muggle workspaces, and turned slightly away from him. “Ready?” At his nod, they approached the security booth.

It turned out to be easier than expected. Severus found it equal parts alarming and gratifying that he was able to recall a bedazzling hex from several decades ago. All he had to do was concentrate and sweep his sleeve casually across the booth’s front as he greeted the guard. The televisions in the back flickered in response. Overall, the change in the videos was minuscule, and would probably draw the suspicion of a Muggle law enforcement officer trained in such things. Nonetheless, the bodies of the two Unspeakables on the security monitors became fuzzy, grainy, and slightly distorted. Certainly, it was more than enough leeway to allow them to breach the perimeter, and fall back on disillusioning themselves when appropriate.

With an oversized map snagged from the Underground, Severus distracted the guard while Granger went about retrieving two badges. However, this required heaving herself over the windowsill in the most unladylike manner. “Never in the presence of a lady before, my arse,” he grumbled under his breath. Notwithstanding, Severus soon became exceedingly grateful for such a large map to block his view of Granger’s hovering ankles... and if he had sounded inordinately interested in the local fauna found around the Aldenham Reservoir that fell about mid-map, well, he could claim it was simply for potion’s research.

As they walked away from the booth towards the studio proper, Granger giggled and yanked down her dress that had risen up slightly during her waggery. She seemed pleased with the success of their first covert operation. Severus had to admit that they seemed to make an adept pair. Then, Granger pressed her wand against the blank badges and a photo of each of them materialised. No, Severus amended to himself, the photos weren’t exactly them but rather blurry, grainy, and slightly distorted. The results were suspiciously similar to the electronic bedazzling hex he had just used.

“You kept the knowledge of that spell to yourself,” Severus grumbled, feeling a bit caught out at not being original in his choice of spells.

“And what of it?” Granger asked, eyes bright in amusement. 

Wishing to continue to be a curmudgeon about it, he replied, “Seems deceitful to keep skills from your partner is all.”

“Partners?” she laughed. “Should we wait more than a day to see if this sticks, Snape?” She smiled brazenly at him then, teasing him.

Despite himself, Severus felt his mood shift and he laughed, his chuckle deep. _Is Granger always this quick-witted?_ He decided then that he’d very much like to find out. Severus then found himself not caring a wit when Granger led him to a side door, her hand guiding him lightly by his elbow. The two of them slipped inside with the aid of a discreet _Alohomora_.

\---

Once they slinked behind several large crates at the back of the set and had set a repelling charm, it became evident that their investigation wasn’t going to be incredibly fruitful this morning. On the way to their hiding spot they nicked a production binder from a back table. Severus snorted at the embossed title page: _Swish-N-Flix Presents: Barry Pots & The Dark One_. It wasn’t clever. It was cretinous. He was almost embarrassed about the entire thing, although, a wicked part of him was also becoming incredibly curious about this entire venture. 

From their hidden vantage point, they could see two of the three pre-built sets. Each set was separated by floor to ceiling panels of green fabric. The centred set was a decent replication of Diagon Alley, including several recognisable shop fronts. The set to the right appeared to be a classroom or instructor’s office. Severus thought it looked rather like what he remembered as Minerva’s, if anyone were to ask him. Finally, the set to the left was disappointingly angled in a way that left it concealed from their viewpoint.

Severus’s careful observations of the studio were interrupted by the director bellowing action. Three actors walked off their hidden marks behind the shops to stroll down the centre of Diagon Alley.

“Who is that tall man supposed to be?” Severus asked. “Don’t tell me that’s Shacklebolt.”

“Probably,” Granger said, without looking up from the binder. She had, of course, been reading the table of contents. Severus had to force himself to not roll his eyes. Granger then flipped over to the day’s schedule. “But it says his name is… oh, dear Merlin… _Cuffdart_.” The grimace that erupted over her face was reminiscent of the time Minerva had tasted a long-expired sour lemon drop during a tedious staff meeting.

“I beg your pardon,” Severus sputtered, turning towards her disbelievingly.

Granger sighed and said, as if embarrassed second-handedly, “It’s still early in the production. Perhaps they’ll change it?”

“Who else is listed as being here today?”

She ran a finger down the list. “Just Barry, who is Harry, obviously. And… Hartleigh?” 

“That must be you,” Severus said.

She huffed. “Why does Hartleigh have to be _me_? It could easily be -”

But he cut her off by pointing towards the set. A rather plain young actress with wild hair was walking across the stage with a black-haired teenage actor. Severus drawled, “It seems like they’ve done the impossible and cast someone with even worse hair than you.”

Granger’s eyes sliced up to his. She hissed, and bit out through gritted teeth, “Oh, and like your hair will be any better?” Her hair even seemed to flare in offence and twist towards him in fury. Severus took a small step back from her to avoid getting snarled like a crup in a feral Devil’s Snare.

Just as he was beginning to fear he would have to make a more obvious retreat, it dawned on Severus where he’d seen the dark-skinned actor before. “I recognise Shacklebolt -”

“Cuffdart,” Granger interrupted, finally looking around the set properly.

She gasped but it was lost in Severus’ huff. “I am _not_ saying that. I recognise him. He was in that Muggle spy film last year, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, Idris Elba did play a very good James Bond,” Granger agreed a tad airily. To Severus’ complete mortification, Granger’s very loud mental thoughts about how very few men could fill out a pair of dress trousers like Elba completely breached his Occlumentic shields.

“Quite,” Severus said slowly giving her a sceptical glance from the corner of his eye. Bothered immensely, he realised he was going to have to meditate tonight to shove Granger’s intrusive and unwelcome thoughts behind a mental steel wall. “But I don’t recognise the two actors playing you and Potter.”

“No, I suppose they had to go with unknown actors so the ages could match up with the time when we were students. They don’t look like they’re much older than twenty.”

“Yours doesn’t look much like you,” Severus heard himself say critically. He pressed his lips together in annoyance at his lack of control. Merlin and Ptolemy, she had really distracted him with thoughts of Elba’s trousers. 

Incredulous, Granger asked, “No?”

“No. You are much more…” Severus stopped himself, looking away. _Well, old man_ , he thought to himself, _just what kind of trap have you set for yourself_? Indeed, the actress playing Granger was all-types of average, almost mousy in appearance especially with her ridiculous untameable hair. But the real woman, standing next to him and looking up at him with such an endearing curious face, wasn’t. But Severus couldn’t very well call her beautiful, even if he thought her to be. It was improper and would cross a line he was not yet ready to traverse. The leap from past-acquaintance to partner was already large enough for one day. Nevermind making another bound to… _friend_.

She turned to him and asked quietly, “More what?” 

Severus had to stifle another sigh at her persistence. “More spirited for one thing,” he finally decided on. He turned away from her and hoped that the answer would be satisfying enough.

Of course it wasn’t. “And what’s another thing?” Granger asked, a little breathless at his confession. 

Severus turned back towards her and raised an eyebrow. Granger wasn’t going to catch him out again, not like this. “More presumptuous. Or perhaps the difference is due to your more advanced age. Stop fishing for compliments, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes. Before Granger could say anything further, a commotion off-set drew their attention just as they heard someone call _cut_. As if on cue, everyone suddenly became aware of a heated argument between two men standing by open loading doors. Severus and Granger weren’t close enough to hear what the scuffle was about but they could see that the two dark-haired men were standing toe-to-toe and gesturing wildly.

The expression on Granger’s face brightened considerably, almost like she had just seen a ritzy dessert trolley pass after an uninspiring, bland dinner. Suddenly, Severus felt forgotten entirely. “Oh,” Granger managed to breathe out. “Oh. My. Good. God.”

“Who are they?” Severus hissed. He thought he may have recognised one of the quarrelling men, but he was woefully behind on the happenings at the cinema; the second man was a complete mystery to him. Granger didn’t respond to his question. She was too entranced by - “Granger,” Severus hissed again shaking her shoulder in an effort to get her to respond to his question.

“That’s,” she swallowed slowly. “That’s Adam Driver there”- she pointed to the man on the left - “and Keanu Reeves there.”

“And I should care why?”

“They’re you,” she said quietly in an odd way, as if she was delightfully surprised.

Cynical and irritated, he asked, “Me? What are you on about?”

“Just look at them, Snape!” Granger was practically bouncing on her heels. Her words came excited and fast, “Dark-haired, handsome, tall. I mean, look at Driver’s nose for Merlin’s sake! Reeves has your frame, just look!” She rose on her toes to try to see the men better over the crew members who had moved across the set.

Severus’ brain sputtered to a stop, snagging on _handsome_. Is that how Granger actually viewed him? A sallow, gangly, tetchy old man as attractive? Surely, she must have lost all reason, and was suffering from some type of vaporous Amortentia that was exuded only from film stars. Severus wished to distance himself from both the awkwardness of the recesses of his mind, and Granger’s shameful fawning. “I think perhaps we’ve done enough looking for one day, Granger,” Severus said a little gruffly as he pulled her arm towards the door they had snuck through earlier.

“What? No! Please, just let me watch,” Granger begged, turning back to look at the men bickering off-set.

“You have a telly at home, do you not?” Severus asked pointedly.

“Well, of course, but what does that have to do with -”

“Then you can catch up with your beaus then.” Severus winced. Dear Salazar, he really was acting like a whiny child. _And ‘beaus’? What am I, stuck in the nineteenth century?_

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “My _beaus_? Really, Snape…” Then, a touch mischievously she asked, “Who would it take to make _you_ stay?”

“Jennifer Connelly,” Severus said without hesitation, remembering fondly a film where she modelled a military jacket and little else. 

“Are you serious?” Granger asked as he pulled her out of the exit. “Maybe they could get her for McGonagall… or…” She flipped through the binder’s papers with determination. “Oh Gunhilda’s Ghost, _McCattail_.” She scrunched up her nose. “Who is coming up with these names?”

“Either someone with the best sense of humour or the worst,” he replied. Then, intending to remind Granger who she came with - and to forget the two celebrities who had obviously caught her fancy - he said, “I believe you’ve mentioned lunch.” Severus also pointedly ignored that Granger had cast Connelly as someone he most definitely did not wish to see model _anything_ except her meticulously tartan wrapped and high-collared robes. He filed that image away next to the one of Elba’s trousers, and hoped that he’d be able to compartmentalise them without too much delay. 

She brightened, visibly pleased that he remembered her earlier request. “You’re feeling up to it, then?” she asked.

“I believe so… _Hartleigh_.” His mouth curled up on one side as he teased her.

She laughed and said low, “I’d be careful if I were you, your name isn’t much better.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, _Sneep_.” The giggle that erupted from her was bewitching despite it being solely at his expense.

“Great Morgan le Fay,” Severus groaned. “Will my life ever cease being a bounty of embarrassment?”

“Sadly, I think not,” Granger said as she gleefully took his bent elbow.

\---

They took turns flipping through Swish-N-Flix’s production schedule over onigiri (dry according to Severus) and chirashizushi (scrumptious according to Granger). They guffawed over the names that were changed for the film. Dumbledore was now Bumblebore (“He did a bit of both,” Severus had sneered). Trelawney had become Higglebottom (“How does a bottom higgle, exactly?” Granger had asked). And the shared incredulousness over Lavender Brown having the rather normal name change to Rose Greene.

“You don’t think Ms Brown is the one behind it, do you?” Severus asked before dipping sashimi in soy sauce.

“No,” Hermione said slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Isn’t it curious as to why she has the best character name?”

Granger scrunched up her nose and gestured towards him with her chopsticks. “I suppose you're on to something there. I mean, the names really are quite ridiculous. Cuffdart and _Sneep_?”

Suddenly, a teenager sitting at a nearby table spun around and asked excitedly, “You’re wizards?”

Severus cursed himself that he hadn’t cast a _Muffliato_ , and made instant note of where his wand rested in his sleeve. His eyes ticked over to Granger whose hand had flinched to her dress’ pocket. Her eyes caught his for less than a second, yet a determined energy was passed in the gaze. If they had to preserve the integrity of their investigation and put the entire shop under Bewitched Sleep, they’d do it. Or worse, send a flare up for Potter’s Aurory assistance. Severus hoped the latter would prove unnecessary, he didn’t desire to be outshone by another younger man again today. Swivelling his eyes over to the young lady, he kept his voice as even as he could, “I beg your pardon?”

“Wizards?” the girl asked as if Severus was daft. “You mentioned Cuffdart and Sneep?”

“Nah, Elsie,” said a boy sitting on the other side of her table. “They’re probably too old to play.” At Granger’s sputter, the boy quickly amended, “No ‘fense ma’am, but you ain’t really the crowd for it, are you?”

Granger began, “What -” 

Elsie, embarrassed, cut her off, “I’m sorry ma’am, I thought you played the app. I hope you have a good -”

“Wait,” said Severus, his curiosity getting the better of him. “App?”

Elsie brightened. “It’s a game on our phones: Swish and Flick.” She dug around in the bag hanging off her chair, and pulled out her mobile. After tapping the screen several times, she turned the phone around to show a title sequence of an animated character flying around a castle on a broom. “You play as a wizard who attends magical classes, and goes on adventures or solves mysteries. I’m only on Year Three, but Rog here is on Year Six. Apparently, there is a big twist with Sneep then.” Elsie was genuinely pleased to share an interest with someone new, and therefore, was completely oblivious to the reactions of her audience.

Across the table, Granger paled considerably. A twinge of guilt cut through Severus. That time of their shared past did not hold many happy memories for either of them. His eyes cut between Granger and Elsie. “Is that so?” he asked flatly.

“I tol’ you already, Els. I’m not tellin’ you anythin’ about it,” said Rog.

Elsie waved her hand dismissively in the air as she addressed the boy, “It’s fine, Rog, really.” And then at the Unspeakables, “I’ve almost figured out who the werewolf is, anyway.”

Now it was Severus’ turn to pale. The memories of his fifth year chasing away the ones of Granger’s sixth. Despite the agony of performing assisted euthanasia on his employer, the memory of the murder attempt by the Gryffindor Golden Boys still took precedence. His voice wavered slightly as he began to build up the walls of safety in his mind, “The werewolf?” He explicitly ignored the concerned glance from Granger before her attention went back to Elsie.

“Yeah, in Year Three a professor is a werewolf but we have to figure out which one it is. Anyway, if you have smart-phones you may want to check it out.”

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Granger rushed over him, “Thank you very much for the recommendation.”

The couple started to gather their things but as they passed, Elsie leaned down to Granger and said, “I’ve heard it’s supposed to be made into a movie. Rumours of course. But if they focus on Year Seven I hope they choose Katelyn Nacon to play the character of Hartleigh. She’d be very good, bookish but pretty.”

Granger flushed at that, the pink travelling down onto her collarbones. Severus wasn’t sure if her blush was because she was flustered at being compared to a film star to start with (whose name Severus didn’t recognise), or at being told specifically that a pretty actress should play her. 

After the couple’s exit, Snape cradled his head in a hand. Tired at the sudden complexity of their assignment he asked, “Have one of those smart-phones, Granger?”

\---

After purchasing a mobile at a side shop, they dithered on the pavement as they came up with a plan of action for the rest of the day.

“We can’t go back to the Ministry,” Hermione said, getting the obvious out of the way first.

“No,” Snape agreed. “The wards would never allow the mobile to work properly.”

“Not to mention we’d be fighting tooth-and-nail for a conference room again.”

“Scared of losing a brawl, Granger?” Snape’s smile ticked upwards on one side, a sure sign he was teasing her again. She found herself liking the teasing if Hermione were being honest with herself. It felt glorious to be one of the exclusive few who were privy to this more relaxed, casual side of him. 

“No,” she scoffed, playing along with the ribbing. “But creating two scenes in that hallway in as many days is distinctly uncivilised. Far below our station and such,” she finished primly, eyes sparkling.

He chuckled at her response. “If we crowd ourselves at one of our workspaces we’d have eavesdroppers. Porter would prattle on insistently,” Snape muttered, referencing his cubicle neighbour.

“Carr would just cower,” Hermione commiserated. Then, a bit lower as if she was including him in confidence, “She’s afraid of you, you know.”

“The American?” Snape confirmed. Hermione nodded in reply. He was quiet for a moment before he asked, “And what about you?” Snape’s posture had grown still, rigid.

“What about me?”

His voice was barely louder than a rumble, “Are you afraid?” 

The idea was laughable, and Hermione almost did sputter out a cackle, but stopped at the serious expression on Snape’s face. “Of you?” she asked unbelievingly. But before he had time to answer, she continued, “I’ve never been afraid of you, Snape.”

“No?” he questioned, his shoulders still tense as he looked at her.

“No.” And then quieter, “Irritated beyond all reason, yes. But never afraid.”

Hermione had told the truth; she had never been afraid of him. Although Snape’s duality made that incredibly difficult at times. He had the habit of antagonising and belittling others if it fit his egotistical narrative. There was also the mortifying incident where he had made her cry in her fourth year with that rude remark about her teeth. But he was arguably one of the most powerful wizards in all of the United Kingdom, and hadn’t Snape used that power towards a just cause in the past? He had protected hundreds during the worst decades of their time, and never wavered from his goal, no matter the emotional toll it inevitably had on him. Snape was dangerous, yes, and sometimes unkind, but he had always been on her side. Even when he had to purposefully push others away to keep his cover. Accordingly then, she trusted him. Hermione realised she always had.

They continued to stare at each other for a moment before Snape’s posture relaxed, the curve of his shoulders rounding as they dropped away from his neck. He turned his head to look down the street. At that moment, the sun hit Snape’s profile in just the right way where it evened out the lines of his face and shot the shadow of his nose across his cheek. His pale skin popped in beautiful contrast between both his dark glinting pulled-back hair and the collar of his leather jacket. 

The combination of the epiphany of having a continual steadfast trust in the man standing in front of her on the pavement, and the sudden appreciation of the planes of his face, had Hermione suddenly blurt out, “Back to my place, then?” _Oh Bugger_ , she thought immediately. Her tongue should really be put under a permanent _Mimblewimble_. 

Snape startled, and he whipped around, his eyes wide. “What?”

Hermione couldn’t very well feign a case of amnesia, she had just offered the invitation. Feeling highly embarrassed, but screwing her Gryffindor courage, she rambled onward, “Come back to my place. It’s not far from London’s centre - if that’s where you live, that is. I don’t - wouldn’t - know. But it’ll give us some privacy to work. Not that we need privacy,” she hurried on at his raised eyebrow. “But it’s better than the blasted Ministry. It’s a Muggle neighbourhood so we could use the mobile without worrying about -” 

Snape cut her off, “Stop blabbing, Granger, and let a man answer.” 

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, her tongue feeling heavy. Anticipation regarding his reply swirled in her chest. A friend wouldn’t hesitate at the invitation. But what does Snape think about her proposition? Does he want to take a step closer to friendship like she does? 

The corner of Snape’s mouth twisted up and he slipped his hands in his trouser’s pockets. “That would be... acceptable,” he drawled.

Hermione couldn’t stop the wide grin that split across her face at his acceptance of her proposal. Before they spun away from behind a nearby retaining wall, she was grateful she had remembered to scrape the owl droppings off her terrace two days ago.

\---

“I thought you were a Potions Master?”

“This isn’t potions. This is… this is...” Snape groaned. He swirled his finger around the mobile’s small screen. A dejected sound sputtered out of the speakers. “Granger, this is idiotic,” he pouted.

“Here, you poor sod, let me look,” Hermione said, taking pity on him. She slid the phone across her kitchen’s worktop as she tucked her unruly hair behind her ear. Leaning against the counter on her elbows, she attempted to brew a Wiggenweld Potion on the Swish and Flick app. After several twirls of a finger, a celebratory tone rang out. “Huzzah!” she exclaimed. She looked up smiling at Snape who was perched on one of the chairs at her breakfast bar. He was watching her intently behind steepled fingers. “What are you looking at, Snape?” she teased, giving him a quirk of an eyebrow.

His eyes glittered. “You seem to be highly proficient at this, Granger,” he replied, not answering her question.

She waved her hands at him as she danced on the balls of her feet over to the pizza box. “It’s these young fingers.” She slipped two slices on plates.

“Is it now?” Snape asked as she passed him his plate. 

“Don’t feel bad,” she comforted. She leaned on the counter again, bending her pizza slice in one hand. “It’s quite common to lose fine motor skills as you age.”

“Is it now?” he repeated slowly, an edge growing in his tone.

She continued to tease as she went to tap on the phone’s screen with her free hand. “Of course. About four weeks ago I read a fascinating study about the declining faculties of the elderly and -” Snape’s hand snapped to her wrist, holding it in place. His long fingers were cold despite the August heat that permeated into her flat during the day - cooling charms, her brain supplied dumbly - and the touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her feet.

“Let me show you,” Snape said low and threatening, “what this _old man_ can do, Granger.” Even though it was presented as a warning, there was something titillatingly wicked laced through the undercurrent of his voice. 

Hermione stared, entranced, at Snape’s curled fingers around her wrist as he slid the mobile back to his side with his free hand. Slowly, his fingers unfurled one at a time before completely relinquishing his grasp. Hermione’s gaze followed his retreating hand until his carefully-manicured fingers began to tap the screen. As he manoeuvred their character to the next scene, Hermione couldn’t help but feel that the air had changed around them, or perhaps more realistically, it was simply Snape extending his cooling charm to surround her. 

Embarrassingly, she was unable to stop an intrusive question from bubbling to the surface of her mind as the tingle around her wrist dissipated. _Sweet Nimue, just what else can those fingers do?_

Three hours later, they were draped over her lounge furniture. Hermione was reclined across the length of her loveseat, her head nearest her chair which was currently occupied by Snape with an ankle crossed over the other knee. His jacket had been abandoned earlier in the evening, and was hanging over the dining chair he had used. Loud and furious taps were heard as he manipulated the mobile that was plugged into the socket behind her television set.

“Don’t break it, Snape,” Hermione chided as she flipped through her dog-eared copy of Isla Dewar’s _Keeping Up with Magda_. 

“Bugger off, Granger. I’m fighting the Basilisk,” Snape snarled. He jerked his head back, moving the loose hair that had fallen out of his hair tie and into his face.

Hermione sighed loudly and dropped her book on the coffee table. She flung her legs off the sofa’s side and sat up. Hermione’s wandering gaze around the room eventually settled on Snape, or more specifically, his long denim-clad leg crossed over his knee. The folded posture was deceptively relaxed. There was not a doubt in Hermione’s mind, however, that if someone were to Apparate uninvited into her flat within the next second he’d still react before she’d even register the threat.

“Stop staring, Granger,” Snape said without looking up from the mobile. Was the flush that seemed to appear on his neck a trick of the light, or was she simply imagining it? 

She huffed, feeling slightly abashed to being caught looking. Then, wilting slightly due to the late hour, Hermione sighed and stretched. Her hair flounced weakly, as if also growing fatigued. She rose and asked, “I’m going to make some tea, would you like a cuppa?”

“No, I think not,” he answered. “The hour is growing late. After I defeat this bloody big snake I will take my leave.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied. “More biscuits for me, then.”

After putting the kettle on, Hermione opened the door to her balcony and stepped out onto the terrace. The warm summer’s night air swept her hair over her shoulders. Relaxed, Hermione leaned against the railing crossing her arms. Night had fallen several hours ago and the lights of civilisation twinkled playfully over the water. The low hum of cars crossing the nearby bridge floated through the air to her balcony. Hermione took in a deep breath, savouring the moment. This small slice of heaven, in the whispering calm air, was worth the owl droppings. 

Over time, she became aware of Snape’s shadow loitering in the doorway. She turned to acknowledge his presence over her shoulder. Snape’s features were completely lost in the backlight; he was only a tall, lean silhouette holding a steaming cup of tea. Snape, realising she had turned, at last, stepped out onto the balcony and handed her her cup. Hermione smiled a thanks and inhaled the soothing mint scent. Her partner settled at the railing next to her, his hands securely in his trousers’ pockets. Snape had also redonned his jacket and fixed his loose hair. 

“You have a nice place here, Granger,” he finally said after some silence. 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, turning back to the water. “The rent may be bloody awful but I really do like the view.”

Deadpan, he muttered, “Yes, the glory of the ditch-water brown Thames is utterly enchanting.”

She snorted. “It _is_ enchanting. The water ripples in the wind. The light shimmers across it in continually different patterns. There’s the delightful hum of boats in the morning, followed by the call of the gulls during the day. It is far more enchanting than the beeping of cars, or the rumble of the Underground, or buildings so tall your only view is of a smelly dumpster-filled back alley.” Hermione took a careful sip of her tea, raising her eyebrows in his direction in a challenge.

Snape stared at her for a moment before he asked low, “Do you always find beauty in the mundane?”

She took another sip of her hot tea, it was just on this side of scalding. “There is beauty in most things, Snape.”

After another long moment his voice wafted over to her on the breeze. Despite the low, soothing tone his velvety voice had said it in, it still sent a jolt of icy-fire down her spine. “Tell me about what happened last summer, Granger.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Tell me about what happened last summer, Granger.”

Severus scolded himself the moment he heard the words pass his lips. He had no right to ask her this. Although the answer would undoubtedly give him insights into her character, he had asked purely for selfish reasons. His curiosity about the event, about her backslide within the department, outweighed his proper good sense in the deceptive comfort of the summer night.

Granger visibly startled at the question, and some tea sloshed over her cup’s rim. “I - I don’t think I can tell you.”

Severus spoke his response carefully, as if Granger was a wild mare who would bolt at the next thunderclap, “You are aware that this would fall under departmental privilege.” His eyes slid over to her, her profile hidden in the shadow of the light from her lounge. “But I won’t force you to speak if you don’t wish.”

“It was terrible, Snape,” Granger whispered into the dark. She turned to him fully then, and he was startled to see that she had started crying.

He immediately felt ashamed that he had even broached the subject, that he had allowed himself to slip so badly. The assignment in question was obviously more serious, more painful, than he had at first considered. Regret rumbled in Severus’ voice’s undertones as he attempted to ask for forgiveness, “You don’t have to tell me anything. I shouldn’t have asked in the first place. It was not my intention to cause you pain.”

Granger shook her head then, either declining his indirect effort to make amends or to expand on the story. Severus wasn’t sure which she had decided on until she repeated, “That week was terrible.” She turned away from him to view the Thames, eyes unfocused on the lights glittering on the water. Her voice low she began, “It happened in Lancaster.” Granger took a steady, shaky breath. “There’s an annual festival there every early-August. A fight broke out, over someone’s place in the crêpe queue. Something so small, so insignificant, and yet…” she released a low trembling breath.

“Granger,” Snape whispered, almost a plea. “You don’t -”

The rest of her words rushed out, as if she was afraid of them, “Someone cast a curse. But it hit a boy. He was just there with his family.”

The pain in her voice unnerved him. “Granger -”

“No,” she whispered harshly. “Don’t tell me to stop because it’s too hard for you to hear. Just like the others...” She turned to pass him to go back inside, the sheen on her cheeks catching in the light. Repeating the action from hours earlier, Severus’ hand snapped to her free wrist.

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Severus’ tone was careful, yet left no space for a misunderstanding. “I don’t want you to stop because it’s painful for me to hear. It is painful for you to tell it. And that is why -”

“Me?” Granger interrupted, shocked.

“Yes, you,” he affirmed, an eyebrow jumping slightly as he repeated the word.

“I… Only one other person has felt the same way as you. I don’t think many people understand why this case hurts me so badly.” Granger looked up at him, showing him a small glimmer of that famous Gryffindor bravery. “My partner at the time did not have a key witness present his memories for Pensieve review at the scene. The error was disastrous as it turned out the wizard had stood directly behind the boy when he was cursed, and would have been able to provide us with the wand’s movements. Without that detail, producing a counter-curse was delayed while we searched for the suspect. The mistake was negligent and I cannot forgive it. Because I am haunted by what happened to the boy… his name was Theo. And he died on the seventeenth of August. He was the same age as Harry’s youngest, Lily. She’s my god-daughter, and they could have been housemates at Hogwarts. Theo had his entire life ahead of him and -”

“It’s not your fault, Granger.”

As if she didn’t hear him she continued on, “I asked to see a Ministry crisis counsellor but it took weeks to get an appointment. By the time I finally went I was so angry that I -”

He interrupted her, the path of her self-flogging guilt a familiar one. “You pretended everything was fine.”

She shrugged, the bravado of earlier deflating from her posture, “Everyone else had moved on. I couldn’t tell anyone outside the Mysteries even though they knew I was in pain. Pretending just seemed the easiest thing to do. And now... now Theo… he’s yet another life I’ve seen cut too short.” Any strength she may have had left started to drain from her voice. “I’ve seen so many other terrible things. It’s unbearable, and I feel too broken to fix.”

Severus let go of her wrist. “You aren’t. If you trust me in one thing, trust me in this: The mind, while able to withstand great pain, is also capable of great healing. You should set another appointment. Or, at the very least, take a sabbatical. It cannot be easy to see your former partner every day.”

“I shouldn’t have counted on Carr for anything. _I_ should have done more at the scene. _I_ should have pushed harder. _I_ should have -”

Severus repeated himself much slower this time, his voice calm, and reassuring, “Granger, it wasn’t your fault. Some things can’t be fixed.”

Suddenly, a wet sob escaped her. Granger began to fold into herself, and she dropped her cup of tea. Severus immediately vanished it midair to avoid it creating a mess on her terrace. In her distress, she reached out to him for comfort. To his credit, he only hesitated briefly before pulling her into his embrace.

\---

Hermione arrived at the Ministry the following morning feeling lighter than she had in months. Confiding in Snape had, while not lessening her self-professed guilt, made her feel less alone in shouldering the burden. He had treated her grief over the assignment with respect, and most importantly, had made her feel heard. And if there was anyone in the entire city of London that could understand the unbalanced ways grief and guilt tug on a soul it would be Severus Snape.

Infuriatingly, Carr had immediately noticed Hermione’s change in demeanour. “Did you get laid or something last night, Granger?” Carr snickered from her workspace.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She sat in her chair and placed her bag under the desk. “Why yes,” she replied sarcastically, throwing her voice up and over the cubicle’s partition. “I can’t be sure, of course, but I think what we did must be illegal in at least twenty counties. The things you can get up to with fruit is quite interesting. Did you know that with the proper lubrication you can fit a star fruit up your -”

“I get it, Granger,” Carr interrupted, a sliver of panic laced in her voice.

However, Hermione was not to be deterred. If Carr wasn’t ready to spar, then she shouldn’t have said a word. Enjoying Carr’s rising discomfort, Hermione continued on, “I would avoid durians, though, as they’re quite prickly and not conducive at all to the pleasure of -”

“For fuck’s sake, Granger, I said I got it,” Carr snarled. And then quietly, but only just, Carr whispered, “ _Freaky bitch_.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She allowed the moment of silence to stretch into a false sense of security. She began to sort her papers. And just as she heard Carr’s chair settle, Hermione sent a _Reducio_ around the edge of the cubicle. Carr’s seat shrank until it was the size of a Nursery student’s. With another silent push of magic, she bound the form of the chair so that it would stay that size for several weeks at the very least.

Carr sighed loudly, “Real mature.”

“No idea what you mean, Carr,” Hermione said innocently, smirking maliciously to herself. She then encased her space in a _Muffliato_ , with the hope that that the buzz would irritate Carr even more.

Hermione began to tidy her workspace, putting some solo side-project reports into their appropriate folders. She filed them in her cabinet’s top drawer, a magical extension of the Department’s Bookkeeping Annexe in the basement. The convenience saved her from making the long, tedious trip into the bowels of the Ministry. The reshuffling of papers unearthed a collaborative tool that Hermione had avoided using since working with Carr. It was a plain notebook, synced to the counterpart being used by an Unspeakable’s partner or team. The Department had implemented it after there were too many vicious complaints about the lack of conference rooms for private conversations.

Hermione stared at it for several long moments before pulling it in front of her. She flipped it open, saw Carr’s pathetic excuses for not doing her damn job, and incinerated the used pages. A flash of guilt over the action surprised her. Carr had attempted to apologise, to justify why she had dropped the ball so spectacularly. But the fury she had felt at the outcome blinded Hermione to everything else. Hermione had not been a good partner, she admitted to herself. But her partner had been a complete dunderhead. _Besides,_ she reminded herself, _you’re supposed to be burning bridges on your way out, aren’t you? It’s a bit late for regrets_.

The thoughts about one colleague quickly morphed into ones of her current partner. Snape was probably sitting at his own cubicle, working on similar bumf. Absentmindedly, she tapped her pen against the notepad. The itch to reach out to Snape was strong. But a simmer of nervousness rippled over Hermione. What if he saw her as over-eager after last night? She had made somewhat of a fool of herself by blubbering to him on her terrace. But, she advised herself, it wasn’t like she was doing anything out of the ordinary. Just one partner writing to the other. Murphy would probably be pleased that Hermione was using the notebook at all.

After dithering on the idea for another few moments, she stabilised her wavering nerve. And wrote him a short note of appreciation.

_/  
G: Thank you for your kindness last night.  
/_

Hermione stared at the page for several minutes, with the ridiculous hope that she could materialise Snape’s response by thought alone. As the time stretched though, she grew more embarrassed. Perhaps she should have kept it strictly professional. Mortified, Hermione flipped the notebook upside down and stuffed it under her in-tray. To distract herself, Hermione began to leaf through her copy of the film’s production binder that they’d nicked the day before. Her finger ran down the page, taking note as to who was to be expected on set next week. There seemed to be a lot of important characters scheduled to appear. It would be an excellent reason for more reconnaissance if she could convince Snape to join her.

Suddenly, she felt a buzz of magic and realised it was coming from the notebook she had shoved so unceremoniously into the corner of her desk. She eagerly pulled it out of its hiding spot and opened it.

_/  
S: Don’t mention it, Granger.  
/  
G: I hope I didn’t ruin your shirt.  
/_

She winced at her overeager reply but his response came back almost immediately.

_/  
S: As I said last night, I know several efficient stain-removing spells.  
/  
G: Have you checked the film schedule for next week? A lot of actors are expected on set. Would be prime time for a re-visit.  
/  
S: It looks like they’re doing reshoots tomorrow, if that suits.  
/  
G: No, I have plans tomorrow.  
/  
S: A date?  
/  
G: No, I’m meeting an old friend.  
/  
S: How old?  
/  
G: Wouldn’t you like to know?  
/  
S: If it’s Minerva, nick some of her Ginger Newts.  
/  
G: I can’t steal from the Headmistress! But no, I’m not seeing her. Subtle way of trying to find out though, bravo.  
/  
S: Believe me, if I were truly being subtle, you’d never catch on.  
/_

Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked. Slytherins always felt themselves to be so clever. It could be considered a failing if it weren’t just a little endearing.

_/  
S: I’m heading to Hatch, Match & Dispatch in ten minutes.  
/  
G: What for?  
/  
S: If you want to know, you know where I’ll be.  
/_

\---

Fifteen minutes later, Granger entered the Wizarding Citizenship Registration Office on the first floor. The room always reminded Severus of Ollivander's. It was a wood-panelled room, perpetually dusty with scrolls tucked into every small nook instead of boxed wands.

“You’re late,” Severus drawled as soon as she caught his gaze.

“I’d apologise,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her. “But it was for a good reason.” Severus turned to her from the table of scrolls he was standing over, an elegant eyebrow raised. “Murphy had to remind me about proper office decorum.”

The corner of Severus’s mouth curled upward. He had a good idea as to why his partner was reprimanded first thing in the morning. “And what did Carr do this time?”

Granger waved off his question as she approached the table. “Apparently something that didn’t match my reaction of charming her chair the proper size for someone just out of nappies.”

“You’re quite vindictive for a Gryffindor, aren’t you?” Severus asked, his question more inquisitive than serious.

She gave him a pointed look before continuing, “I had a rather good teacher.” Severus narrowed his eyes slightly and felt his shoulders tighten. It sounded like she was referring to himself. “I imagine you’ve met Headmistress McGonagall.”

Severus snorted as his shoulders dropped in relief that she hadn’t meant him. “I must admit, it surprises me to hear you speak ill of her. However small the jab is.”

Quietly, Granger said, “Everyone is fallible, even and probably most especially Gryffindors. Now,” she commanded, gesturing with two wide, open hands to the scrolls. “What are we looking for?”

Severus moved aside some of the scrolls to expose his copy of the Swish-n-Flix production binder. “As enjoyable as people-watching is,” he said with a grimace, referencing their film lot visit, “our primary objective is to get to the bottom of this. So, why not start with the producers?” He pointed to the names on the title page: Rodoca Flamy and Gamier Greenhorn. “A bit too flashy for Muggle society, wouldn’t you agree?”

Granger pressed her lips together. “And have you had any luck?” she asked carefully.

He picked up several scrolls and handed them to her. “Here are the records of the Greenhorns in Scotland. I am going to look for Flamy next, although I am predicting the etymology is not English.” The hypothesis of the foreign origin was based solely on the fact that he had been stationed at Hogwarts for the span of two generations of students, and it was not a surname he recognised.

“While you search the stacks, I’ll go through this lot, shall I?” Granger asked, overeagerness laced into her tone. _Good_ , Severus thought, _she came ready to work_. He nodded at her and then strode down a long row to the ‘f’s. After several minutes of thumbing through the stacks and coming up empty he asked loudly, “Anything, Granger?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid,” she called back, something in her voice wavering. It must be nervousness at failing the task, he settled on. Severus vaguely wondered if the rumour about her boggart in her third year had any credibility to it. As his slender fingers worked deftly down the row a thought began to fester. After a few more moments, it became something he couldn’t ignore. “It just occurred to me,” Severus said as he reapproached the front of the room, “these names may be anagrams.”

Nearly there he heard a window slam open. Suddenly, there were a few dozen birds flying through the stacks of scrolls.

“What the bloody hell?” Severus asked as he rushed to the front of the room.

Granger stood between him and the table, protecting her face from the attacking flock. Her hair twisted out as if in distress. “They just flew through the window!”

With a lazy flick of his wand, Severus returned the birds outside. Curiously, he eyed the opened window. “How very odd.” When Granger didn’t reply he slid to her side and asked, “Are you alright, Granger?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, a little shaky. “I was just surprised is all. Oh,” Granger gestured towards the table. “I must have spelled the scrolls away in my panic. I apologise.”

Severus bit back a sigh. That startled reaction would have made sense if she was a Hufflepuff. Severus expected her to have more control over her nerves. But she did seem genuinely panicked at what had just transpired. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Granger this pale. Despite his inner annoyance, Severus reassured her, “It’s alright, Granger. How about we find you some chocolate? I can always come back to take up the search again.”

As he escorted her out, Severus hoped he’d be able to find the scrolls again without too much delay.

\---

_/  
G: Are you attending the Staff Meeting in an hour?  
/  
S: I was going to beg off. I have had enough excitement for one day.  
/  
G: I bought some Ginger Newts at lunch.  
/  
S: Ministry canteen biscuits are subpar. Are you trying to poison your partner?  
/  
G: To meet your exacting standards I purchased them from that bakery down the street. The one with the lilac awning.  
/_

Several minutes passed as Severus stared at her last message. It sounded suspiciously like a peace offering. He hadn’t been able to find the Greenhorn scrolls when he returned to the Registry Office. The locator spell assured him that they were in the building but the exact location was proving harder to pin down. Leave it to Granger to accidentally vanish them so spectacularly.

Severus wanted to stay annoyed at her, that would be the easy thing to do. However, a part of him would consider himself a fool if he passed over biscuits from The Lilac Tree.

_/_  
_S: See you at four._  
_/_

\---

Dottie Murphy, Department of Mysteries Unspeakable Manager Level Two, stood at the podium in the meeting room waiting to start the weekly debrief. Currently, she was overseeing three dozen active assignments, split amongst two dozen Unspeakables. The Unspeakables weren’t assigned to managers, but rather the managers delegated cases across the entire Department. How an Unspeakable was chosen for a case was often based on skill or desire. Occasionally, the case’s assignment was more random, or based purely on who was available. Or, like Dottie’s most recent irritating allocation, because of sheer bloody necessity.

She shuffled her papers containing the details of the weekend and overtime assignments, and glanced at the wall clock. It read two minutes to four. Three more Unspeakables entered and took the remaining seats at the two rows of tables. Dottie bit back a sigh. One team had yet to arrive and they were going to make a scene about the lack of seating. _Although_ , Dottie thought to herself, _if they just made a point of arriving on time, for once, they wouldn’t have to stand along the wall like petulant, whiny -_

At that moment, her last pair slipped through the door and leaned against the wall. Dottie found herself quickly surprised by three things. The first being that neither seemed to be quite as upset over the lack of seating as she anticipated. Just the previous May, Granger had hexed a colleague who had elbowed her to the last seat. Were Snape and Granger actually snickering over something back there? The second shock was the discovery of Snape’s sweet tooth, if the way he was savouring those yellow biscuits were any indication. Finally, the third thing that surprised Dottie was something she hadn’t seen at work since that long-ago May meeting. It was Granger’s genuine smile. Dottie could easily count on one-and-a-half hands how many times she had seen Granger smile in this building since last August.

Dottie felt warm and inordinately pleased for her friend. But almost as quickly, that pleasure was replaced by a lead-balloon of dread sinking into her stomach. Was this a trick? Was Granger simply playing an incredibly rude prank on her? On Snape? Were those biscuits poisoned? Dottie began to panic. _Oh, for the love of Furmage’s Pixies, I won’t have to resuscitate Snape in the middle of the blasted meeting, will I? What are they plotting?_

During the meeting, Dottie did her best to focus on the questions about the assignments, and to her credit she called someone by the wrong name only once. But, she couldn’t shake the nervousness she felt over Granger’s intentions. Every time Snape shifted, and one horrible moment where he bent over to pick up a Muggle pen that Granger had dropped, Dottie felt her belly dive through the floor. When someone finally asked her if she was alright, all she could mutter was that she had a stomach ache.

\---

“Did you see Murphy’s face?” asked Hermione as she walked towards the atrium with Snape. “She looked like she simultaneously had seen a ghost, and ate a bad Bertie Botts at the same time. Definitely either the Earthworm or Booger flavour.”

Snape hummed next to her, his strides slightly slower for her sake. “Is this how you treat all your friends, Granger? Gossiping behind their backs?”

Hermione huffed. “It’s not gossip. It was only an observation. Did you notice how she went for her wand when you retrieved my pen? But she overcompensated and hit her arm against the podium?”

“Was that what she was doing? I thought she was bitten by a Doxy.”

“You didn’t do something without me that put her on edge, did you?” Hermione asked, an eyebrow raised with her question.

Snape snorted. “I rather think it was you who did something, if she was coming to my defence.”

“Your defence? As if I, what? Actually poisoned the biscuits and -”

“And I began to crumple to the floor to wait for an agonising death?” His sideways smirk showed off his teeth.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Since you are a Potions Master, I would be mortified to learn that you don’t carry around a bezoar for that very situation.”

“Think you have me figured out, do you?” She shrugged lightly in response. As they approached the Apparition circle, Snape’s pace slowed even further. After giving her an oblique glance, he asked, “Did you happen to bring the mobile with you?”

The question seemed odd. Hadn’t they determined already that the mobile wouldn’t have worked in the wards? Hermione reminded gently, “No, I couldn’t risk the wards tampering with it and frying it.”

“Ah,” Snape said growing visibly uncomfortable. “Would you… if it’s not too much of a problem...” he trailed off. Looking at a spot over her shoulder he finished, “Would you be amenable to working at my place tonight?”

The shock of the question made Hermione’s heart thud so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “You’re asking me back to your flat?”

“Are you saying yes?” His face was impassive, but his eyes were flashing with something she couldn't identify.

Hermione answered, “Only if you say yes.”

Snape turned his eyes upward for a moment and the corner of his mouth ticked. Hermione thought she might have heard him mutter ‘Bloody Gryffindor.’ But then he confirmed, “Then, yes, I am asking you back to my flat.”

Hermione instantly felt electrified. This intensely private man was asking her to join him at his personal residence. This must be an incredibly big step for him, she decided. She couldn’t quiet the whisper of hope that unfurled in her chest. Did Snape wish to be friends too? She was completely unable to hide her eagerness when she replied, “Let me go back to mine and grab the mobile. Five minutes?”

Snape nodded, and his hair fell around his face. But before his face was shrouded completely, Hermione was sure she caught an endearing tinge of pink across the bridge of his nose.

“Great! I’ll be right back. No hexing anyone without me!” Hermione rushed to the circle, and she vanished with a snap. But not before throwing a cheeky grin back at Snape.

\---

Severus was purposefully biding himself some time by hiding in his kitchen. Every now and then he tinkled a cup on the sideboard to give the illusion that he was still making tea. He had been bamboozled by Granger, Severus interpreted, there was no other reason for inviting her back here. She had laced those divine biscuits with something, an additive that generated Gryffindor good cheer and amenability, and utterly destroyed his Slytherin sensibilities.

That had been one of the better staff meetings in recent memory, and it was only because she was by his side. Granger drew delightful, animated caricatures of their colleagues in the margins of her notes. She had supplied him with enough Ginger Newts that if he had wanted to he could have stuffed his pockets like a greedy Hansel and gone skipping into the forest for an extended walkabout. They were developing a true partnership, something that Severus found immensely satisfying on a fundamental level. Inexplicably, he didn’t want their time together to end. Having her come to his flat seemed fair since they had already been at her home. But now that she was here… things seemed infinitely more complicated.

He had never invited someone from the Ministry to his flat. Even when Severus worked at Hogwarts, few people crossed his threshold. It wasn’t until his third year as a Professor when he finally invited Minerva into his lounge for a drink. That year’s first infamous Quidditch match had sent seven students to the infirmary, and a record fifteen detentions were assigned. Afterwards, he felt they had rather earned the opportunity to get absolutely pissed on a bottle of Scottish Glendronach, and as Minerva was known to share a tipple or two, it seemed like the most advantageous method of getting rat-arsed.

In contrast, Granger's presence in his home was distinctly unnerving. His sanctuary felt breached, no matter if he was the one to raise the gate. Maybe he could feign an illness, allow her to borrow one of his lesser favoured books, and then slink into bed like the coward he was beginning to fear he was.

He began to slowly, methodically, place the tea service on a tray. _Might as well get on with it_ , he thought. Vulnerability aside, Severus could take solace in the fact that Granger seemed to appreciate his home. His ground-floor utilitarian style loft was closer to the city’s centre than Granger’s, located in Wappling in a converted aircraft parts factory. Severus had always told himself that he’d move somewhere quieter after living in a noisy, children-filled castle for half his life. But by the third day of isolation in a country cottage, the silence had prickled against his skin, and forced him to flee the paradise he had attempted to enjoy. Things were easier to manage in London. It was fast, loud, never slept, and some nights neither did he.

The clock above the sink ticked loudly, intruding upon Severus’ internal thoughts. He knew he had to abandon the sanctuary of his kitchen to face the spritely Gryffindor witch who was undoubtedly rifling through his bookcases unsupervised. Severus settled his nerves, compressing the itch of exposure he felt with Granger here, and spelled the tea tray to follow him out into the lounge.

Granger was bent over, hands splayed across his lower shelves, entranced by his memoir collection. He caught a glimpse of the soft lines of her body before she straightened. She hadn’t heard his approach, she was far too interested in his library than his action. Granger moved over to another bookcase and began to run her fingers across the titles. Her tactile exploration of his books entranced him. Severus often had the same reaction in bookshops, it was difficult to resist their siren call.

She delicately extracted a book from his poetry row. Gently, she opened it and began to flip through the pages. She began to smile, and looked like she had found an old friend. _Perhaps she really had_ , he thought. He cleared his throat to get her attention. Surprised, Granger’s face snapped up to his and she held the volume close to her chest.

He eyed the book, _Love Does Not Stop at Red Lights_. “Already pilfering my library, Granger?”

“You have a book of poetry by Nizar Qabbani,” she said in response, her eyebrows scrunched in wonder.

Severus tried to not be insulted. “And is that such a surprise?”

“Well,” she gave him a look, as if she was quickly judging his past deeds like his own personal Aeacus. After a moment, she uttered softly, “Maybe not. But it is still an unexpected find.” She thumbed its pages. “I haven’t read his work in so long.”

“You can borrow it, if you’d like.” Severus winced internally. He hadn’t expected himself to say that, but now the offer was out there, he couldn’t very well take it back.

She pressed the thin volume back against herself as she breathed, “Oh, I’d like that very much, yes.” _Well, that settles that then_ , Severus thought with finality. He had spent years cultivating a brusque personality at work. Now not only was he entertaining his first collegial houseguest, but he was also lending her a book. A poetry book. Internally irritated, he wondered if that meant that the preceding years of being a surly bastard were for nothing.

He steered the tea tray to rest on his low coffee table and then took a seat on his sofa. Granger settled near him, the warmth of her body radiating towards him a person's-width away. She was practically vibrating with giddiness as she flipped through his book of poetry.

“No reading it in the bath, Granger,” Severus reminded as he tipped tea in their cups.

“Yes, sir,” she teased, as she threw a genuine smile in his direction. Granger added a dash of milk and three sugars to her cup. And then, she took him by complete surprise when she exclaimed, “To partners!” before clinking her cup against his.

Severus decided, in that shocked moment, that he could either continue to follow Granger’s lead towards camaraderie, as she so obviously had in mind. Or, he could say something particularly lashing and put an absolute end to it. As Severus looked over to see the mirth written so plainly on her face, he felt unable to refuse the former.

“To partners,” he agreed.

\---

“I made a mistake,” Dottie said over a Pimm’s Cup much later that night at the Yellow Tulip, a youthful Muggle bar in downtown London. The two women, semi-weekly regulars, were sitting at the bar below some wide television sets broadcasting a cricket match.

“How so?” Granger asked as she waved at the bartender for another Sidecar. “Feeling regretful that I took your challenge and twisted it for my betterment?”

Dottie tried to not let it sting but it still did. She was just trying to do her job and save two people’s positions at the same time; it wasn’t as if she had been trying to be a cunt. She gave Hermione a sceptical glance over her glass. “You know,” she said slowly. “You’ve quite a bit of Slytherin in you.”

“And you, my dear, are no ordinary Hufflepuff,” Granger said as she clinked her glass against Dottie’s.

Dottie swirled a piece of chicken in sauce. She mumbled, “You two are going to burn down the department.” Mentally, she began to sort the expense reports for the type of restoration that would be needed if such a situation came to fruition.

Sarcastic and becoming a bit sloshed, Granger muttered raising her glass, “And then from the ashes we will rise like phoenixes.”

“I’m serious, Hermione. The two of you together… You’re bloody terrifying. What was I thinking?” _Obviously, I wasn’t_ , Dottie thought to herself. _I thought the two of them would act like adults._

“I like him,” Granger admitted, the alcohol obviously loosening her tongue. Dottie swivelled to her at the surprising confession. “I can be myself with him. I can be sarcastic. I can say what’s on my mind without having to worry that it’ll sting him. He even asked me about what happened last year and actually listened to me. You know that nobody besides you had done that for me.”

“Tamblyn should not have put Carr on that assignment,” Murphy growled, referencing another manager.

Hermione’s shoulders drooped. “It was what it was. A horrible assignment with a horrible partner with a horrible outcome.” Granger finished off her cocktail. After several minutes, her head wobbling slightly, she went on, “I should have been paired with Snape before this, you know. We’d have made the department’s record for the quickest closed case. We’d have been unstoppable. We’d have been legends.”

Going back to the topic of Snape surprised Dottie. She was certain that Granger wouldn’t want to keep expanding on her partnership with the man. “How much have you had to drink, exactly?” she asked. With a twisted grimace she attempted to add up their drinks in her head, the numbers fuzzy and floating.

“Shush your mush,” Granger slurred unbecomingly. Or at least that’s what it sounded like. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to feel safe with someone, Dot? He’s - he’s - _nice_.”

“Did you completely lose the plot?” Dottie was able to stammer out. “You must be very plastered right now, Hermione.” Dottie pushed back the next drink that the bartender brought over. She slapped several coins on the counter. “We need to get you home before you say something to me that I won’t be able to forget. Besides,” she said as she helped Granger up to her feet and began the laborious walk to the door. “We can’t have you completely hungover. Don’t you usually spend some of your Saturdays with… Rosie?”

Granger stood stiffly next to her, and Dottie winced at Hermione’s vice grip on her waist. “Rosalinda,” Granger corrected, rolling the ‘r’ more than necessary. “My neighbour. Ms Sz - Sz -”

“Stop while you’re ahead, Granger,” Dottie chided gently, as she dragged her friend out into the warm night. The lights of London momentarily blinding them after the dark atmosphere of the bar.

“Not tomorrow though,” Hermione tried to clarify, through her slurring words and rolling letter ‘r’s. “Meeting someone.”

“A date someone?” Dottie’s tone curious as she pulled Granger down a deserted side street. When was the last time Hermione dated someone? Dottie attempted to think back. It had to be over a year ago, there was snow on the ground. With a sense of pitiful wonder it dawned on Dottie that it had to be two winters ago. _Oh, Hestia,_ she thought, _I sure hope she says ‘yes’._

Granger laughed so hard she stumbled. “Oh, you’re funny!” she squealed. Hermione then smacked her tongue on the top of her mouth as if she had tasted something particularly unsavoury. “But also, disgusting, no.”

Dottie rolled her eyes, and gave Granger a quick squeeze. She attempted to convey her support for her friend in the gesture, even if the answer wasn’t the one Dottie wanted to hear. “No, I suppose it’ll take quite the man to catch your fancy, wouldn’t it?” She stuck out her wand hand in the air.

Murphy couldn’t be sure if Granger had attempted to answer the question because the Knight Bus screeched into existence in front of them, completely drowning out any possible answer.

“Hullo, Dottie!” Stan Shunpike greeted as he leaned out the door. “And Ms Granger!” He tipped his hat to the other woman. “Had a bit of a night out, ladies?” he asked as Dottie pushed Granger on board.

“You ask that question every time, Stan, and the answer is always the same,” Dottie replied as she and Hermione took a seat at the front.

“Yeah, but it’s part of the game, isn’t it, Murph?” Stan leaned down smiling.

Dottie pushed him away goodnaturedly. They had been sorted together and Dottie always had a bit of a crush on him. It broke her heart to hear that sweet, silly Stanley had been in with the Death Eaters. She was quite thankful that the news reports were wrong. Like Severus Snape, things sometimes weren’t what they first seemed, were they? They had grown up and apart through the years, but Dottie always kept a soft spot specifically for Stan. “Richmond first for her -” she nodded towards Granger who had gracelessly slumped against the window - “and then Stratford for me.”

“Right-o! Hear that, Ernie?” Stan hollered as he turned. “Hang on, ladies!”

The Knight Bus zipped out of existence down the streets of London. Dottie hoped, for whoever Granger was meeting with tomorrow’s sake, that she had some sobering potion in her medicine cabinet.

\---

At noon on Saturday, after a very long lie-in and an extra-strength sobering potion, Hermione was running her hand over the bindings of Classic Muggle Literature in Flourish and Blotts. She always had a warm spot for Mr Bliven, he was a wizard through and through but he categorised _all_ his books faithfully. There were no books placed here that weren’t exactly what the row described. Being that way, there was also no one else in this far back, often overlooked corner comprising Muggle literature. Not many wizards had the inclination to read creative pursuits by their non-magical brethren. Which made it all the better to hide in these particular stacks.

As Hermione walked down the row, now into Muggle Romance, she caught sight of another interloper on the opposite side of the bookcase. She stopped short in the aisle, pulled out a thick blue volume, and began to flip through it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the person was blonde, although the shelved books were hindering her sightline of more details.

Panic dropped from Hermione’s chest to her gut, where the nervous acid was building. To be caught here wouldn’t do. She was so close now, and arranging another meeting could be difficult. Most importantly, she wanted her money before quitting the Mysteries and absolutely needing it. She sincerely hoped that no one else would come down this way to peruse a Muggle author on some flight of fancy. She turned around with her back to the shelf as she absentmindedly looked at the pages, waiting for the other person to move on.

Thankfully, it was only a moment or two before she heard the other person walk to the end of the stack towards the middle of the shop. She turned around again, towards the shelf, hiding her face in the open book. At the worst, she could feign ignorance, after all, she was a well-known swot and being here in this row was hardly out of the ordinary.

Hermione glanced at the slot on the shelf where she had plucked the book from. In its place was an unmarked envelope. Growing smug, Hermione smiled wildly, allowing herself to feel euphoric in the moment. She swapped the book for the envelope, and then slipped it in her pocket. Shortly after, Hermione left the row giddy with all the possible scenarios of the future swirling around in her head.


	6. Chapter 6

Severus had just stepped out of Rosa Lee Teabag with pastries safely secured in his pockets and a takeaway tea in his grasp. There were a few other errands to run today before returning to his flat: picking up owl treats, haggling over the price of Demiguise hair for a personal side project, and rounding back to idly browse Flourish and Blotts for some new tomes. The weather was wonderful and he was in a good mood.

A part of Severus was resolutely ignoring that his current satisfaction with his lot in life had anything to do with Granger. She stayed for a few hours after tea to work their way through the app until they reached Year Four. Severus had found her companionship… tolerable. If he was being completely honest with himself, despite his initial misgivings to entertaining someone in his flat, her presence was gladly received. Granger’s laugh had been delightful during their conversations, on an impromptu tour of his shared courtyard she had been fascinated by his concealed plants, and at the end she had attempted and failed to abscond with another of his books. She was very much the swotty student Severus remembered, but the more mature feminine edges of her character were intriguing. After Granger had left, the quiet was surprisingly uncomfortable and it took him a while to feel settled again in his own skin.

Distracted, Severus bumped into another man in front of Flourish and Blotts. He turned with a scowl, intending to throw an accompanying barb. However, when he caught sight of the familiar icy blonde hair his frown turned into a smirk. “Off in a hurry today are we, Draco?”

Draco’s eyes swivelled up and widened. He sputtered out a greeting, “Uncle!”

The pair stood frozen while other shoppers nervously scooted around them. Even though the War and Severus’ exoneration for his dual roles were in the past by two decades, the general public still gave him a wide berth. However, Severus couldn’t help but wonder if some of the nervousness of the denizens was actually pity directed to his godson. The Malfoys had suffered an extravagant loss of station amongst pureblood society because of Voldemort. While Draco had struggled in the early years, he seemed to be doing decently for himself these days. He never gave Severus many details, always diverting the conversation away. Some days Severus wondered if Draco worked in a restricted annexe of the Mysteries Department.

As the seconds stretched, Severus realised that something was off about Draco. His godson’s eyes shifted back to the bookshop several times. The nervous way Draco threaded his hair with his hand was reminiscent of the time Severus caught him as a firstie attempting to steal from his potion stores on a dare.

“Did you forget something?” Severus asked, taking some kind of perverse pleasure in Draco’s discomfort. He may be almost a mature sixty years, but Severus had always found comfort in others being wrongfooted. Draco, normally unflappable, was obviously anxious, and that meant he really was up to no good. 

Draco startled. “What?”

Severus repeated himself, enunciating slowly, “Did you forget something? In Flourish and Blotts?” He had to stop his smirk from breaking out into a full predatory grin. Draco was really making this too easy.

“What?” Draco repeated. He shook his head and jammed his hands in his trousers’ pockets. “No, no, of course not.”

“Well then, what are you -” but the question as to what Draco was doing here was lost as Severus’s attention was stolen by the tinkling bell over the bookshop’s door. Severus’ eyes cut across the pavement and landed on his partner leaving the shop.

Granger wore pale denim shorts and a loose-fitting cotton shirt. Her thick hair was loose again and framed her face. Her expression, while quickly filtering over to surprise, had first been euphoria. Granger had looked, until she made eye contact with Severus that was, completely carefree, her shoulders carrying a load no heavier than Acromantula silk. While she did seem pleased to see him, Severus could detect something new in her countenance, a wariness in her eyes.

“Hello!” Granger greeted as the door closed behind her before crossing over to them. “How are you today, Snape?”

Draco immediately avoided eye contact and became very interested in a spot on the cobblestone beneath their feet. Yes, Draco was acting oddly indeed.

Focusing his attention back to his partner, Severus answered, “Fine, Granger. And yourself?” After she replied in the positive and Draco had still not said a word, Snape supplied sarcastically, “I trust you remember Draco?” 

“Right,” Draco said submissively as he shrugged in an apologetic way. “Sorry. Hello, Granger.”

As Granger made forced, stilted small talk with Draco the reason as to Draco’s discomfort came crashing down on Severus like a bludger. His abnormally twitchy godson had just exited the shop mere minutes before Granger did. She had said that she was meeting an old friend today, hadn’t she? What if she meant Draco? What if they already had their meeting? A clandestine tryst in the shop would certainly explain his godson’s absurdly rude behaviour. 

Severus quickly processed a conglomeration of emotions at this realisation. Initially, there was the satisfaction that his perpetual bachelor-godson had finally found a match. But that was immediately overpowered by a jolt of slimy incredulous jealousy that slithered over his chest and into the pit of his stomach. Severus couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts that followed: Of course _it was a younger man_ , of course _it was a handsome man, and_ of course _it was a man of elite breeding who had captured Granger’s fancy_. Granger’s mellifluous laugh at something said by Draco aggravated him further, and he saw a tinge of red on his periphery when she lightly touched his godson’s arm. 

The reaction Severus was having dismayed him. He and Granger were work colleagues, that was all. And yet, something obsessive was brewing in him. Severus had to distance himself from this situation, lest he find himself stumbling down a familiar malicious path with another bloody Gryffindor witch at the crux of it. Neither Granger or Draco had earned his reproval. And Severus didn’t want to trample the satisfying working relationship he had managed to build up with Granger.

“I’ll just leave you two to it, shall I?” Severus bit out rather harshly, not trusting himself to say anything more. However, as he turned away he caught sight of Granger’s face dropping at his self-dismissal. Granger’s mien surprised him, her disappointment evident in his decision to leave, and it made his first steps falter. Severus forcibly exhaled as he stalked down the lane. The Occluding that was required to separate his emotions in tidy compartments was a colossal strain on his vulnerable emotional state. A part of him, something that felt like quixotic apprehension, wished he had still smoked… it would take the edge off, if nothing else.

\---

Once Snape had stormed off down the lane and was clearly out of earshot, Draco turned to her and cast a _Muffliato_. “What was that about?” 

“Hell if I know, Malfoy,” Hermione snarled, annoyed. She had been delighted to unexpectedly run into Snape. The promissory note was burning a hole in her pocket like fiendfyre, and seeing her partner after procuring it made this one of her better afternoons in recent memory. Despite the warm weather Snape still donned an outer cloak, and the familiar image was comforting. But then something obviously irked Snape enough to leave, causing him to billow away like a rippling inkstain. As sly as Severus claimed to be he could be quite obvious with his displeasure. She reminded Draco evenly, “It’s not good for us to be seen in Wizarding public together, remember?”

Draco answered with a scoff. “I think it’s a bit late for that with Uncle -- Wait,” he said as he turned towards her. “Are you two working together?”

She answered tersely, “How is that relevant?”

Seriously, he said, “Just answer the question, Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his tone. “Fine, yes,” she confirmed.

Draco made a disgusted face. “You haven’t, uh...” He was beginning to look quite ill. “You haven’t gone past the professional level, have you?”

“The fuck if that is any of your business!” Hermione was close to screeching. Her hair spiralled menacingly, flaring out with her outburst. She felt a rush of protectiveness over her relationship with Snape. They certainly weren’t intimate but they were growing closer, weren’t they? And wasn’t that worth keeping safe?

“No,” Draco said as he took a step back, both hands offering her a surrender. “And it’s not like I want to think about my godfather in flagrante delicto with you.” Draco visibly gagged before cutting his theatrics short at her burning glare. “But the way he stormed off… it was odd. He acted a bit jeal-”

“For Circe’s sake, Malfoy, grow up finally for once in your life.” Her temper began to dissipate when she next said, “Besides, there are worse things for you to consider than what your godfather looks nude.” Regardless if she had wanted to or not, the vision of her partner sans clothing popped in the forefront of her mind. She felt equally mortified and stimulated.

Draco frowned heavily again. “Believe me, Granger, nothing can be worse than the image of -”

Shaking her head to rid herself of her postulations Hermione interrupted him, a finality laced in her resigned tone, “My assignment.”

“What about it?” Draco turned to her, confused at where she was going with this.

“Pay attention,” she said while patting her pocket. “My assignment.”

Draco’s eyes flicked from her pocket to her face, comprehension dawning. “You mean to say that -”

She sighed heavily, shifting her weight. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Well, shite, Granger.” He released a low breath. “I was hoping for some more time.”

Hermione shrugged, growing even more demoralised with the complexity of her position. She felt stuck squarely in the middle between two projects, operations at complete opposite ends of the same common thread. In a detail befitting of grim humour, she was also once again playing the intermediary between two men, although Slytherins rather than Gryffindors this time. “I don’t control these things, Malfoy.”

Agitated, he spat out, “Who in the hell found out about it?”

“Do you remember Ernie Macmillan from school?” she asked looking down the lane. Her heavy Unspeakable-bewitched tongue not allowing her to say more.

“Great bloody bollocks,” Draco groaned as he realised who she meant. “What a nervous old biddy. Madam Price never sat down whenever she hosted a soirée. She always had to be in the middle of the gossip, lest she be unprepared to cover her arse.” He sighed, needling a hand through his hair. “How much time do you wager we have until they all know?”

Hermione squared her shoulders, trying to display a confidence she didn’t feel like she actually had. “Weeks, months if we’re lucky.”

“And you’re certain that they can’t touch us?” Draco’s unsure tone discouraged her. It was tiring to continually be the level-headed one. Hermione was imperfect, and also uncertain about what lay ahead of them. But now, she felt like she couldn’t share her fears. Especially not if it would make Draco regress back into the broken man of five years ago.

“People won’t like it.” At his wince Hermione tried to console him, “But yeah, we’ve gone through the books together, Malfoy. The law can’t touch us on this. The worst consequence would be banishment. You would have nothing to worry about, you already live on the fringes. But there are layers of pseudonyms and false accounts, nobody has to know.” Although there was no unbreakable vow in place, Hermione felt compelled to keep her promise. She would keep Malfoy’s involvement a secret, she wouldn’t be the one to give it away.

What Draco said next solidified her stance to continue to be his unconventional champion. “I’m trusting you on this, Granger.”

“A trustful Slytherin.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “That sounds like an oxymoron if I ever heard one, Malfoy.”

He shrugged elegantly, the tension in his shoulders releasing. The corner of his mouth ticked up. “We exist. It’s better when we have an overeager Gryffindor in our corner to distract everyone from what we are doing.”

Hermione volleyed back, the familiar teasing between the two wrapped up in insults, “Compliments will get you nowhere, ferret boy.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Draco said leaning in towards her slightly, flashing his teeth in a grin. “It has carried me this far.”

“Cheek, Malfoy,” Hermione reminded him with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Never worry, Granger,” Draco’s tone returning to his typical calm register, implying that he really did trust her to take care of them. “While it horrifies me to think of my godfather having himself a good shag, I’m not dumb enough to get in the middle of whatever you two have.”

She huffed out a laugh, a touch on the hysterical side. _Oh yes_ , she thought, _because that’s exactly where you are. Right in the goddamn middle of whatever friendship I am trying to foster._ “Sod off, Malfoy,” Hermione growled as she stepped around him with the intention of going straight to Gringotts. 

As Hermione strode down the pavement she couldn’t help but feel a small sting of loss. She had genuinely been growing fond of her blossoming friendship with Snape. But with her loyalty to Draco about to traverse the Rubicon, she would have to make the decision whether to honour the promises of her past or pursue the possibilities of the future. 

As she turned down a cross street she briefly wondered how much of a good idea it would be to bring Snape into their confidence. To her knowledge, Malfoy hadn’t told anyone beyond his immediate family of their involvement in the Muggle world. If he hadn’t told Snape yet it must be for a very good reason. _Pride_ , she theorised. _It is so often the beginning and the end of being a Malfoy._ Perhaps there was a way to convince Malfoy that finally letting his godfather in on their business venture was a good idea.

Certainly, there could be a way to stay in both men’s good graces? There was still enough wiggle room in this endeavour, right?

\---

Outside the Muggle film studio on Monday morning, Severus stood stiffly on the pavement. He was fighting the instinct to pace, which would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention from the Muggle security. Instead, he was focusing on the pressure of his interlaced hands behind his back, and mentally reinforcing his Occlumentic shields. Severus had spent yesterday in an introspective angry daze, attempting to figure out why he had reacted so badly when presented with the possibility of Draco and Granger being… involved. The only thing that made any sense also made him feel incredibly juvenile. 

Severus had never made friends easily. Social niceties did not come naturally to him. His misanthropy, while at times isolating, was also his safety net. Whenever Severus had made a friend in the past, things always ended badly. Lily, Lucius, Charity, Minerva… fate just didn’t deign him worthy of having friendships. Indeed, it was just easier to avoid the entire thing altogether than to exert the effort. In a leap of faith, Severus had just settled on the idea of becoming friends with Granger. But barely before he had time to process it she was already gone. Swept away from him by another, out of his grasp, just like all the others...

“Snape?” Granger suddenly appeared at his side as if he materialised her by thought alone, and interrupted his internal musings.

“Granger,” Severus greeted, tilting his head forward to allow the curtain of his hair to obscure his face. He needed a moment of security to settle his demeanour before speaking again. Too brusk would alienate her and would drive a wedge between himself and Draco. Too circumlocutory would be suspicious and she’d be certain to poke and prod until he broke in a rapid deluge of scathing insults.

“Snape,” Granger said gently, swaying softly next to him. “I just wanted to say -”

“There’s no need,” Severus interrupted, pressing his hands together harder. He already knew what she was going to say. Gryffindors were so bloody predictable. “It’s none of my -”

“No,” Granger interjected. “Listen, Snape. Please.” He swivelled his eyes over to catch hers at her plea. “Malfoy seemed to think… that is…” she looked like she had to struggle to come up with the words before her face became resolute. “There is nothing romantic between me and Malfoy. I want to make that very clear.” Granger’s gaze was strong and steady.

Severus felt that he was fast approaching a watershed moment. He could either trust her at face value and believe the words she declared. Or he could fall back on old habits of mistrust and withdraw from her. Surprisingly, Severus found himself rejecting the easier path. Granger, someone who was typically so bloody righteous that it bordered on obscene, would not lie to him. She would have nothing to gain by the falsification. 

Severus also couldn’t help but focus on the unspoken subtext of her declaration. She hadn’t ever chosen Malfoy, and Severus’ relationship with her was safe. The notion made something bloom and unfurl in his chest. “Alright, Granger,” Severus said, a corner of his mouth upturning.

“Alright?” she asked unsure, her eyebrows scrunching together.

“Alright,” he repeated, suppressing an eyeroll. Granger smiled at him then, her eyes softened, and a rush of ease flowed through him. 

As they repeated their previous methods to gain entry to the studio, Severus deciphered what the lazily spinning emotion in his chest was. It was something curiously reminiscent of hope. Perhaps it really was time to leave his paranoia behind and embrace a friendship. After all, Granger and he were on equal footing as Unspeakables. The last time the dynamic was this similar was when he had befriended Lily. But despite Granger sharing a House with her, Severus could find solace in that history wouldn’t be cruel enough to repeat itself by giving him yet another beautiful lioness to be betrayed by.


	7. Chapter 7

“What’s on the docket for the day, Granger?” Severus asked, indicating Granger’s copy of the production binder. A simple sustained _Hominum Exumai_ was cast around their space, guaranteeing the pair’s hiding spot behind the prop crates would not be discovered.

The set was very busy this morning. The designers were putting the final details in the professor’s office’s set. Assistants were flipping through the day’s production notes and fetching coffee. Lighting was being adjusted, and the cinematographers were going through their marks. The large loading door on the left was open again and various people hurried in and out.

Granger flipped through to the day’s schedule and ran her finger down the timetable. “Some scenes with Sneep, apparently.”

Severus’ jaw hardened. The name had the same repulsive reaction as fingernails screeching down a chalkboard, irritating him immensely. “Please, don’t say that name,” he snarled.

“Well, what would you have me call him then while in your esteemed company?” Granger asked sarcastically as she snapped the binder shut.

Severus tipped his head in her direction and rose a single dark eyebrow. He drawled out one word, “Hartleigh.”

Granger grimaced immediately. “Touché, Snape.” After a pause she continued, “They’re also working on that third set with the younger actors.” She pointed to the set obscured by the green sheets. “They’re replicating the time when I had that lovely jaunt in the Forest of Dean.”

“Today is proving to be beneficial for both of our mental health,” Severus said with a suffering sigh.

“Oh right,” she said gently while giving him an apologetic look. “The scenes with… you looked like dialogue with Bumblebore.”

Severus clenched his jaw again and it cracked under the pressure. He felt the tension coil in his shoulders. “Yes, that’s wonderful,” he replied darkly. “To see that particularly awful time of my life reanimated for the masses.” He squeezed his fists by his side, and let out one long exhale through his nose. Bitter memories were starting to circle him and Severus began the disciplined process of reinforcing his Occlumentic shields to keep the unwelcome emotions in their place, locked and hidden away.

“Oh, Snape,” Granger said sadly. Her pity soured his mood further. “I don’t think they meant to -” Suddenly a hush fell over the set and Granger’s attention was diverted towards the loading door. She let out a gasp. Captivated on that part of the set, she said faintly, “Oh sweet Milda and Áine.”

Severus looked past her to see an actor billow on to set. He rolled his eyes. Severus would be loathed to admit that he was thankful for this distraction. But almost anything was better than reliving past conversations with a long-dead ghost. “For the love of -”

Distracted, Granger shushed him while waving her hand weakly in his general direction.

“So which one is he again?” Severus asked, jutting his chin towards the actor who was obviously playing himself even though he couldn’t see the resemblance. Although, he would begrudgingly admit that the wardrobe department really had replicated his frock coat with a decent amount of accuracy. The actor strode across the set, his outer robe swirling behind him until he was in front of the erected office. _Dear Merlin_ , Severus epiphanised, _I really did look like a bat._

Granger’s attention was still on the actor so he wasn’t able to see her eye roll. But he felt it all the same. “Keanu Reeves, Snape, how do you not know?”

“Muggle entertainment, while fine to watch at a cinema on a weekend, is not something I routinely keep up with unlike -”

Granger shushed him rapidly again. Severus felt he was in a somewhat peculiar role reversal. Instead of Granger quieting her old cohort Weasley during one of his lectures, he was now the one being silenced. Reeves slipped a paper out of his pocket and began to speak in a rumbling tone, obviously practising his lines. Next to him, Granger closed her eyes. She appeared to be slipping into a meditative state, imprinting Reeves’ words for future review.

Startlingly, Severus wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was she savouring this because it was Reeves muttering words about honour and faith? Or was it because Reeves was emulating him and his voice? Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Granger was still enraptured listening to Reeves’ tone deepen as he worked through a vocal exercise. Curious, Severus decided to test a theory.

He leaned down and allowed his voice to rumble down her neck, “Granger.”

Granger startled and squeaked. Abashed, she looked up at him with a blush that ran down the entire length of her neck. “What is it?”

“Just what are you doing?” he said slowly, over enunciating.

“I - I am just - doing work, alright?” She turned her attention back to Reeves who had just shrugged out of his outer robe. He began to adjust the long row of buttons on his frock coat.

Severus hadn’t seen her this flustered since her school days. He couldn’t resist in prodding further. “It doesn’t look like -”

Granger interrupted him immediately, “Button it, Snape.” She pressed her lips together, her flush growing more scarlet.

It was an opening he couldn’t ignore. Severus gestured towards Reeves. “It looks like you’d rather _unbutton_ it, actually.”

Granger exploded in frustration, “And what of it?! Can’t I enjoy a fantasy just once?” At that declaration, Granger’s eyes opened wide with fear and embarrassment, and she smacked her hand across her mouth.

Severus was hardly capable of a response, his brain sputtering to a stop at the idea of Granger fantasising about… about him… but not him, exactly. No, another man playing him. But dressed exactly like him and attempting to emulate his deep voice. So, did Granger simply find Reeves attractive despite the role he was cast as? Or… the more implausible answer was that Granger somehow found him, the real Severus, attractive.

They stared at each other for several moments in silence. Finally, Granger stammered out that she wanted to check out something in the prop department and scurried away. As Severus turned to follow her path, he caught her gaze over her shoulder. There was definitely unease in her eyes but something else… despondency, maybe, even though that seemed like an inaccurate interpretation.

When Granger returned half an hour later she didn’t mention her flub, so neither did he. Severus was reluctant to travel the muddy waters they had found themselves in. His relationship with Granger was moving quickly. They were past acquaintances one day and then work partners the next. Then shortly after that, they had taken the first steps towards friendship, with Severus navigating on just how to do that without carrying the paranoid baggage of his past. Add in a possible attraction on her part and it was enough to make him fidget uncharacteristically.

For one of the few times in his life, he felt incredibly unsure as to what he should do. Therefore, if Granger wanted to ignore the Erumpent in the room, that was certainly fine with him.

\---

An opportunity opened up to investigate the production department while the cast and crew had lunch. Severus found himself playing the part of the lookout as Granger went in the director’s office. He was thankful to not have to focus on something for a few minutes. Despite Severus’ best efforts to fight it off, Granger's possible-confession had invaded and settled into his mind.

Severus would be a fool if he weren’t just the slightest bit flattered at the implications of a beautiful, intelligent witch like Granger finding someone like him attractive. Surely, Granger had her pick of anyone. For Merlin’s sake, Severus had just spent the weekend thinking his godson had endeared himself to her. It had seemed so plausible that he had worked himself up into quite an unbecoming jealous state. He had genuinely feared that like Lily before her, Granger would select a paramour over his friendship.

But she wasn’t Lily. Indeed, Granger was her own person. And it seemed that she may find their friendship worthy of keeping despite any other relationships she was harbouring.

Severus set his jaw, a wave of determination washing over him. While he had thought himself perfectly content to not delve deeper into clarifying Granger’s admission earlier, he no longer was. Severus needed to know. Which man was she fantasising about? Himself? Or the safer option: an untouchable man temporarily playing an idealised fabrication of himself?

“Snape?” Granger whispered through the crack at the door. He turned at her voice. “There isn’t much here but you’re welcome to take a look.”

Severus nodded and entered the office. Granger cast a ward snare in the hallway before clicking the door shut behind them. The office was ridiculously messy; papers were strewn over every flat surface making it impossible to identify the furniture’s actual function.

“How does anyone work in conditions like this?” he muttered under his breath as he began to flip through the papers nearest him.

Granger laughed low somewhere behind him. “I suppose this is your worst nightmare, isn’t it?”

He paused for a moment, his fingers hovering above another stack of papers. The mental tendrils of difficult past deeds threatened to rise. “No,” he eventually said, getting himself under control. “I wouldn’t say that.” Severus heard her stammer behind him in an apologetic tone but he waved her off. She simply hadn’t thought before speaking. He could certainly understand that mistake.

Severus slowly moved down to the end of the room. He had filtered through headshots of extras, takeaway menus of nearby restaurants, and crew manifests. As he neared the far corner, he realised something was peculiar about this part of the room. It smelled smoky. He moved aside some takeaway containers in the rubbish bin and discovered a pile of ashes.

“Yes, I found that too,” Granger said at the other end of the room. “I just figured it was someone smoking indoors.”

“I don’t think you can do that anymore,” Severus said looking down at the ash pile. It seemed to be a bit too much to account for a single smoker. It was very odd. Even if everyone who entered this room shared a carton, it still wouldn’t account for -

“Snape, someone is coming down this way,” Granger alerted as she peeked out the door.

“Right,” he answered as he straightened. It was disappointing to come up against another dead end. They were on their second set visit and still no closer to figuring out who was in charge of this operation. The pair slipped out the door and down the hall, out of sight.

As they walked out of the building and back into Muggle society Severus’ curiosity overruled his better judgement. He felt compelled to begin to question Granger in regards to her earlier disclosure. “How old is Reeves, anyway, Granger?”

Granger shrugged. “I don’t know. In his fifties, maybe? Why?”

“No reason,” he said noncommittally. She didn’t seem perturbed by the age difference, if her reaction on set was any indication. Unfortunately, it didn’t bring him any closer to figuring out who was most likely to be the true focus of her fantasies.

Unanticipatedly, he realised why being curious was dangerous because an intrusive thought erupted before he was able to squelch it: _What would you do, old man, if she_ was _fantasising about you?_ The proper answer eluded him.

\---

“Great bloody bollocks,” Hermione breathed as she entered the shared trailer of several actresses. “This is bigger than my entire flat.”

It was the following day and Hermione was unconvinced that they’d find anything of note in the trailers. _And_ , she thought solemnly, _if I do find something I’ll have to dispose of it anyway_. She grimaced remembering her panic of yesterday when she found documents with Malfoy’s anagram on them. Hermione hoped they weren’t actually vital, the thought hadn’t fully crossed her mind when she incinerated them. Thankfully, the odds of the cast keeping important paperwork in their trailers was low. Which meant she could snoop to her heart’s delight without having to worry about covering her tracks.

Hermione opened up the makeup table’s drawer and rifled through it. _This lipstick probably costs as much as a car payment_ , she thought grimly. As she slid the drawer closed, her gaze snagged on a nearby Muggle gossip magazine.

The front cover displayed a photo of Reeves with the actress playing the role of Hartleigh. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders as they strolled through London. The caption below the photo, in bright letters, exclaimed: “KEANU WITH NEW YOUNG GIRLFRIEND?”

Hermione’s fingers traced over the actress’ face. Something peculiar was niggling at her, seeing the dark-haired actor with this younger woman. Abruptly, a thought appeared in the forefront of her mind: _That could be you and Snape_. Her hand snapped back as if the magazine burned her. _Goddammit_ , Hermione scolded herself, clenching her fingers. Her brain was betraying her. Yesterday, she had been so caught up while witnessing Reeves adjust the long row of buttons on his fitted frock coat that she forgot herself entirely. Hermione certainly wasn’t supposed to admit to anything, especially not to Snape himself. _Fine_ , she reluctantly conceded to herself, _I like Snape_. His curved eyebrows, the way the corner of his mouth ticks up when he’s teasing her, his remarkable intelligence, the long thin fingers, voice like velvet, his sharp tongue… put all the pieces together and well, Snape was quite an attractive package.

Which was a shame, really. Because while Hermione was firmly supporting Draco’s livelihood she would never be able to be honest with Snape. And after all of the subterfuge and circumventive lies in his life, he would expect honesty above all else.

Just as Hermione began to feel quite pitiful, three brisk knocks sounded on the side of the trailer. Snape was alerting her that the filming for the morning was ending. She took a moment to clear her head of the conflicting feelings she was experiencing before opening the door. When she did she was greeted with the sight of Snape’s lean dark-clad form leaning casually against the trailer.

“Anything, Granger?” he asked as his dark eyes watched her descend the stairs.

Hermione shook her head, brushing away the flutter she felt at seeing him. “No, nothing of interest.” They walked side by side as they left the area just as the actors, none the wiser, exited the set.

“Is Sheeran a musician?” Snape asked, referring to one of the trailers he poked around in.

The question surprised her. “Actually, yes. How did you know? Doesn’t seem to be your type,” she said as she recalled his band shirt from last week.

“There was a guitar in his trailer.” After a pause, he asked, “Which Weasley was he supposed to be, again?”

“Charlie? Bill? An older one for sure. Unless…” Hermione looked up at him with a quirk of a smile. “You don’t think he’s playing both twins, do you?”

He tipped his head towards her, endorsing her point. “Might explain why he seemed to have double the clothes stored than the others.”

Hermione shook her head and laughed. “Unless he’s just particularly vain. One of the actresses has lipstick that costs a few hundred pounds.” Their pace slowed until coming to a stop at the corner of the building.

Snape’s tone was biting, “Ah, the joys of the rich and famous. Must be nice to be part of the ‘better’ half, no?”

“I don’t think I’d consider them ‘better’, really,” she muttered.

He looked mildly surprised. “You’d toss aside your middle-class bourgeois precepts without a quibble, hmm? That comes as a shock given that you live in an expensive broom closet.” Quieter, he added, “To be fair, mine isn’t much better. I was only able to afford my flat because I sold a few patents. My neighbours, on the other hand, seem to be deep-pocketed fat-cats one and all.” He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and looked back towards the trailers.

She huffed, taking offence at his description of her beloved little flat. “Wealth isn’t everything, Snape.” And then remembering how fickle privilege could be she said low, “It can be taken away just as fast as it was to gain. And then what? They start over with nothing? And no one cares because it’s like they earned their misfortune?” Her hair had begun to twist in righteous anger.

“You don’t find even an inch of pleasure in someone else’s hardships, do you?” Snape asked seriously, looking at her fully.

Her eyes flashed in a challenge and she straightened her chin. “No, I don’t.”

He gazed at her, his eyes flicking over her face. After a moment he asked, “Have you ever wondered if perhaps you have some Hufflepuff in you somewhere?”

She squared her shoulders and retorted, “Would that be such an awful thing?”

He regarded her for a moment before answering softly, “No, not if it makes you who you are, Granger. I’d not wish for you to change.” Something about that statement made her chest feel very warm.

However, as they resumed their walk for their own lunch break she wasn’t sure if she was elated at his approval or ashamed. Could it even be considered an accurate acceptance of her character if she was unable to be completely truthful? The idea made her heart hurt.

\---

Wednesday morning meant that Hermione was back at the office for a morning debrief with Murphy. Other than confirming the validity of the Aurory report, there wasn’t too much to explain. It wasn’t like she could be honest with Murphy about her true involvement. That admission’s fallout would surely be a disaster and lead to her immediate dismissal. She was determined to not leave Snape partnerless, not when his own employment was hinged on their success. Hermione was nothing if not diligent to her commitments. Admittedly, that did make her loyalty to Malfoy a little more complicated.

Thankfully, Muggles loved magic, thought highly of it in fictional media at the very least, so perhaps it would be easy to come up with a plausible explanation. Whatever it was, though, it would have to be very convincing. Hermione decided to send an owl to Malfoy at lunch. Perhaps he would have an idea.

Suddenly, the other Slytherin in her life came unbidden into her mind. She released a low breath. What was she going to do about Snape? How much trouble would it be to include Snape, after getting Malfoy’s approval? If this stretched on much longer before a resolution, Snape was going to take being kept in the dark quite badly. And she knew that if she wanted to continue to be Snape’s friend, she would have to reveal the entire plot to him. Relationships built on lies had no foundation for longevity. She would need to talk to Malfoy about this as well. Resigned, she realised that that owl had just become an invitation for afternoon tea.

She sighed and rubbed her face harshly with her hands.

Her notebook hummed with an incoming message.

_/  
S: Prepared for Murphy this morning?  
/  
G: I’m not some firstie.  
/  
S: No, definitely not.  
/_

Her torturous mind supplied a rather accurate audible hallucination of the way Snape’s voice would roll right over all those vowels. “Shite,” Hermione muttered. While feeling relieved he didn’t equate her to a child any longer, it did absolutely nothing to alleviate the guilt she felt. She couldn’t help but feel that she had begun to string him along.

\---

After an anticlimactic meeting with Murphy, Hermione raced to the owlery to send off her missive to Malfoy. Following that, she had a rather tasteless lunch in the canteen. Her co-workers pointedly gave her a wide berth during her meal. She had at least a radius of two-tables of empty space. It had to be a ministerial record.

On her way out she walked by her cubicle. Her notebook glowed, indicating that she had a message waiting. Hermione almost hadn’t circled back. If Malfoy was coming over for tea she would need to nip out to the shop for some nibbles.

_/  
S: Do you have any more of those Ginger Newts?  
/_

Hermione stared at the question for several long minutes, her fingers running over his spiky script replicated in her book. Gods, how was it possible this man was endearing himself to her over biscuits? She flew out a prayer that her soul would be forgiven for it’s selfishness because she replied:

_/_  
_G: No, but I can pick some up if you come over at six to work on that app._  
_/_

\---

“How did you ever get Phoebe Waller-Bridge to play Pulteney, the flying instructor, by the way?” Hermione asked the man in an impeccably tailored Muggle business suit sitting on her loveseat later that afternoon.

“Money talks, Granger,” Malfoy’s silky voice answered.

“And how did you settle on Keanu Reeves playing Sneep over Adam Driver?”

“It was the preferred choice of someone above my paygrade.” He rolled his wrist dismissively.

Hermione snorted. “Aren’t you at the top of the paygrade?” She flipped the binder of paperwork closed. “This looks perfect. To be honest, I can’t believe you managed to pull it together in just a few hours. How long have you really had this done up?” She drummed her finger against the stiff cover.

“Can’t answer that, I’m afraid,” Malfoy said nonchalantly. “The answer would make it appear that I have a heart.”

Hermione walked around her kitchen counter and handed him the binder on her way to her chair. “Ah, yes, that would be a terrible thing to admit.”

Malfoy smirked as he placed the papers into his briefcase on the adjacent cushion. “Right, so you understand.” He kicked up his Oxfords on to the coffee table and pulled out his personal mobile. “I’ll send you a copy of it by the end of the week.”

As Hermione lowered herself into her chair she eyed his shoes on her table with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t get too comfortable, Snape is coming over soon.”

“I thought you said you two weren’t involved, Granger,” Malfoy said without looking away from his phone.

“We aren’t,” she sputtered, feeling herself blush. Awkwardly, her words rushed out, “He’s coming over for work. You know, what _normal_ people do.”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth ticked up. “Normal people also get together to knock boots.”

Hermione was sure her face was growing more inflamed by the minute. “Well, it’s _not_ happening here, I can assure you.”

“But,” Malfoy’s pale eyes cut knowingly to her. “Would you like it to?”

Mortified, Hermione wished for something catastrophic to occur to prevent her from answering. The roof collapsing. An owl barrelling through a window. Her oven catching fire spontaneously. Someone arriving at the door. After an extended pause with no reprieve in sight, and Malfoy’s eyes steadily on hers, she answered, “I don’t see how that is any of your -”

“Business,” he finished for her, looking down at his mobile again. Malfoy held up a placating free hand, the other hand resuming to scroll on his phone.

Hermione attempted to steer the conversation away from herself and questions she didn’t feel like she had answers to. “I thought you didn’t like to think of Snape having carnal relations?”

“I most certainly don’t,” he answered immediately, a tinge of pink breaking across his face. “But everyone deserves happiness, Granger.”

Hermione didn’t respond to that straightaway. But she did agree with him. Malfoy could arguably be the physical embodiment of his point. After years of despair, he had cultivated a satisfying life. Admittedly, he wasn’t on the expected career path of an aristocrat’s heir. But when the heir was set to inherit a desolate estate attached to an empty vault, it became the only viable option.

Over the last several years, Hermione had been caught up in Malfoy’s life. Working with him to better his station despite living in a world that had become unwelcoming to his family. Decades before that, she was aiding Harry and Ron, making sure they were successful at school and able to survive the Voldemort Conflict. In short, Hermione had always been helping others since a young age. She genuinely liked to be helpful, and the altruistic fulfilment that naturally came from that. It’s what attracted her to the Mysteries in the first place after she became bored in the Department of Law Enforcement.

But Hermione hadn’t felt happy in quite some time. Theo’s death had been a stark reminder that no matter how much she did, there were some people she could never save. She had given too much of herself to the department and had not received the same help in return when she needed it the most. So, what would make her happy now? Leaving the Ministry was a given. Therapy would certainly help. Pursuing a friendship with Snape was definitely on the list. Deepening that relationship was a possibility, as distant as it was looking to be in their current predicament.

Hermione sighed and slouched down in her chair until her head hit the top of the backrest and closed her eyes. She clenched and relaxed her jaw several times. Finally, she gathered enough courage to admit, “There’s just one problem, Malfoy. Relationships generally are built on trust and given all the moving parts of this enterprise, that doesn’t exist here.”

Perplexed, his voice drifted over to her, “You don’t trust him?”

“No, it’s not that.” Her voice was low as she admitted, “He just doesn’t know… he doesn’t know about this.” She waved her hand tiredly between the two of them.

She could feel his gaze on her. “You haven’t told your partner about your involvement in -”

“No,” Hermione cut him off firmly.

“Not even -”

“Nothing.”

Surprised, he muttered, “Damn, Granger. I half expected you to run your mouth at the first opportunity.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Hermione reminded tersely. “So, you see,” she said, gesturing as if she had just laid it all out on the table, “we can’t possibly move beyond our professionalism.”

“But, do you want to? At all?” he asked, his voice low.

She opened one eye and cocked an eyebrow in his direction but was otherwise silent.

He smirked knowingly. “Thought so.”

“I don’t know, alright? I do like him. We’re compatible partners. But I can’t...” she straightened in her chair and leaned on her knees. Now was the time to broach the subject about including Snape in their confidence. She interlaced her hands. “Draco,” she immediately had his full attention at the use of his first name. “I have a question for you and I need you to answer it truthfully.” Her fingers fidgeted as she stumbled over her words, “I want… How would you feel about…”

But a knock on her front door cut her off. Hermione sighed heavily. Feeling angry at herself she thought, _Just say the words, ‘I want to tell Snape about this so I can be his friend properly and then maybe something more’, you bloody cowardly Gryffindor_. Instead, as she lurched out of her chair, she said out loud, “Probably just Ms Szimonetta, try to not embarrass me this time, would you?”

Malfoy simply waved a conceding hand at her.

She pointed at him. “And don’t go anywhere. I do have that question to ask.”

“Is that what you were trying to do? I was concerned that you were suffering from a stroke.”

“Don’t make me hex you in my own home, Malfoy,” she warned, the threat nullified completely by the smile she threw at him before she retreated down the hallway.

But her smile slid completely clear off her face once she opened her door and saw who was standing on her threshold. “Snape!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My utmost apologies to Keanu Reeves who, two weeks or so after I had written this chapter, came out publicly with a beautiful, successful, _age-appropriate_ girlfriend. Thank you, sir, for always proving that you are a literal treasure amongst your peers. We can, collectively, also ignore the slightly hypocritical slant that comes from celebrating a well-known celebrity dating someone who is his own age and my love for this glorious SSHG ship...


	8. Chapter 8

“Snape!” Granger exclaimed after she opened her door. She immediately slammed it in Severus’ face. He was left blinking in the hallway of her building for exactly three seconds before she sheepishly opened the door a third of the way.

Severus rose a thin eyebrow in query and bit down an instinctive retort.

A blush bloomed across her cheeks. She sputtered, “I just - that is - you’re a bit early aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem?” he asked evenly.

“Well, no, of course not. You’re always welcome here.”

He flicked his eyes above her head. “In that case, may I come in?”

Granger turned to look down the hall towards her living room briefly before answering precipitately, “Oh, yes, of course. So sorry.” She stepped to the side and fully opened the door for him.

Granger followed him down her hallway after clicking the door closed. “Do you prefer to order an early dinner or will tea stuffs suffice?”

Severus looked over at her kitchen and saw a tea service already half put together. “Tea is fine, Granger.” He inclined his head towards the tray. “You needn’t put yourself out.”

She nodded minutely but otherwise said nothing as she crossed behind him. Severus found his gaze following her hands as she placed the kettle on the stove. She grasped the kettle’s handle and clicked her stove on. Then Granger’s fingers uncurled one at a time before she moved to the cupboard to pluck out her teacups. She handled each step with such grace, such precision that the entire routine was mesmerising. Granger turned to face him again, gently cradling her cups in front of her. She stopped short when she discovered him staring.

Granger began to ask, “Was there something…”

“No,” Severus managed to mutter. He shook his head as he turned away from her, allowing his hair to become a barrier between the two of them. Severus began to file away the impression of her efficient hands, skilled in something so mundane to the point it was like witnessing a waltz.

He lowered himself on her loveseat and was immediately poked by something in his backside. Leaning forward Severus slipped a hand down the back of the cushion and felt something thin and smooth. Readjusting his grip he plucked it from the depths of Granger’s sofa. It was a phone.

But this mobile was silver, not black like the one they’d been using. Severus flipped it over to the nondescript back before turning it around again. The time appeared on the black screen. At that moment, the tinkling of the tea accompaniments as they were placed on the tray jolted him out of his inspection of the device; Severus quickly slipped it down behind the cushion he had found it in.

Granger slid away from her kitchen, carrying the tray. As she placed it on her coffee table Severus straightened his lean leg and slipped their shared mobile out of his pocket. He offered her the phone, holding it between three long fingers. Granger tucked her hair behind an ear and smiled. Their fingers grazed when she plucked it out of his grasp. Severus’ skin prickled where they had touched.

Ignoring the sensation, he carefully scooped sugar in a cup. He watched Granger from behind his fringe as she settled in her seat, a leg crossed under her derrière. Severus asked, “Did you already have a mobile before this assignment?”

“No,” she replied as she took the cup he presented her with her free hand. “They ding all the time, don’t they? Seems intrusive.” She made a playful look of disgust.

Severus hummed in reply. She was either lying, a skill she had never been proficient in, or this was someone else’s phone. Theoretically, this person had to be friendly with Granger to have sat on her sofa to lose their mobile there in the first place. In particular, the silver was peculiar. Hadn’t Draco always had a predilection towards that metal? His temper rising, he paused his cup halfway to his lips. The evidence was mounting that she had lied to him already, but he so desperately wanted to trust her and push back against his suspicious intuition.

“Is everything alright?” Granger asked quietly.

Severus tipped his head back, his inky hair revealing his face. “Yes,” he assured her, not believing it himself.

Granger gestured towards the biscuit tin. “I bought your favourites. Please eat them,” she begged. “So I don’t have to.”

He cracked open the tin with his free hand and his ire deflated. The delectable Ginger Newts, wrapped in their purple tissue paper, were stacked neatly inside. There was no question that she had bought them specifically for his pleasure. But, there was still a petty, prodding vexation building in the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but feel transported, once again, to a time in the past when he was unwillingly put in a triangle with a cunningly beautiful witch placed firmly in one of the vertices.

\---

_/  
G: Are you in?  
/  
G: What about now?  
/  
G: Hello?  
/  
G: Did you find the headquarters of the app developer?  
/  
S: You’re sure that the address listed in the transaction shop is correct?  
/  
G: You can’t hide from Inland Revenue.  
/  
S: But you can apparently hide from everyone else. It’s an abandoned warehouse.  
/  
G: Do you think they simply moved and we missed them?  
/  
S: They had never used the building. It’s been abandoned for at least a decade if the neighbourhood grocer is to be believed.  
/  
G: You’re a Legilimens. Is he to be believed?  
/  
S: Yes.  
/  
G: Another dead end then.  
/  
S: Obviously.  
/  
G: So, what’s next?  
/  
S: More reconnaissance. No one can hide forever. They’ll slip up eventually.  
/  
G: You sound pretty sure about that.  
/  
S: Chalk it up to experience.  
/_

_/  
G: Save me from this boredom that is cataloguing the Arithmancy results of honeybee hormones during a New Moon. What is the independent assignment you’re working on?  
/  
S: Top secret, I’m afraid.  
/  
G: Not even a hint?  
/  
S: Did I ever give hints in class?  
/  
G: But I’m your partner, not your student.  
/  
S: Nonetheless, a snidget can’t change its colour.  
/_

_/  
G: Was that you in a meeting with Carver from the Muggle Excuses Committee five minutes ago?  
/  
S: Spying on me now?  
/  
G: No, I’m simply curious. I didn’t miss a hexing, did I?  
/  
S: No. Don’t forget, curiosity often kills cats.  
/  
G: Good thing I’m not an animagus then.  
/  
S: You are a Gryffindor, however, and therefore not immune.  
/  
G: Don’t worry. I have at least five lives left.  
/_

_/  
G: Can you stop for lunch?  
/  
S: Ministry food is subpar; I’ve told you already.  
/  
G: There’s a curry place two streets over.  
/  
S: Which type of curry?  
/  
G: Indian.  
/  
S: I’ll be ready in five.  
/_

_/  
S: What do you really think about Murphy?  
/  
G: She was a friend before she became a manager. I like her despite her career choice.  
/  
S: Doesn’t seem like the type you’d get on with.  
/  
G: Think you have me all figured out, do you?  
/  
S: And what would you say if I said I do?  
/  
G: I’m full of surprises. Don’t let your guard down too low.  
/_

_/  
S: Are you available to meet at the film studio first thing tomorrow morning?  
/  
G: I’ll be a little late, but yes.  
/  
S: Scheduled an extended lie-in, have you?  
/  
G: No.  
/  
S: What then?  
/  
G: It’s the seventeenth tomorrow. I have a visit to make first.  
/  
_

\---

The following morning, after procuring a bouquet of flowers, Hermione ambled slowly down the pavement to Theo’s home in Lancaster. After his case closed it wasn’t appropriate for her to check in with his mother any longer, so it has been several months since they last spoke. Hermione hoped she wasn’t overstepping now, leaving a memento on the front step. Although, she supposed wearily, even if Theo’s mother did file a formal complaint - which seemed unlikely based on the circumstances - it wasn’t like Hermione was going to be in the Ministry long enough to suffer too much from being placed on professional probation.

However, when she approached the terraced house she came to an abrupt stop. Things looked different now. Most noticeably, there were no toys scattered throughout the front garden despite the warm temperatures. On closer inspection, the flower beds looked well-tended and not overgrown like last summer. It was as if someone had more time to care for them. The car parked at the kerb was small and compact. That seemed strange, Hermione thought. Why would a Wizarding family need a car? It was an unnecessary expense unless they took pride in blending in Muggle society. As she neared the metal post box she realised she didn’t recognise the stencilled name embossed at the bottom.

The reason as to why caused her to stumble on the way up the front steps. This home that she had visited during the course of Theo’s treatment and then afterwards for the memorial was no longer his family’s. They must have sold it, the memories here too excruciating. As heartbreaking as that decision must have been, Hermione recognised it as being one rooted in mercy. Theo’s family deserved to find their happiness again, whatever that looked like.

Hermione suddenly felt like the world had continued to spin on without her. She had certainly placed Theo on a pedestal of sorts, a representation of the loss of childhood innocence. She knew what it was like to have a childhood cut too short by the actions of senseless adults. However, her grief was immeasurable compared to Theo’s family and they had still been able to take steps towards healing while she had not.

She hoped they were happy, wherever they were. Bitterly, she felt like she had missed an opportunity to cultivate her own.

After leaving the flowers on the stranger’s doorstep, she went for a ramble down the shoreline of the River Lune to clear her numb head. The sky, a depressing grey, matched her mood and held the promise of rain. She would have felt comfort in the way the water moved downstream if she were home, tucked safely away in her flat. But here in Lancaster, instead of peace she only felt regret.

She hadn’t moved on, she hadn’t pushed her energy into anything productive after Theo’s death. There was work she could have focused on. Such as advocating for laws with harsher punishments for injuring minors, or researching methods to efficiently diagnose curses when the caster was unknown. Hermione could have even learned to bloody bake. But instead, she had isolated herself away from everyone and everything.

Hermione stumbled over a rock as an epiphany dawned on her. She hadn’t isolated herself entirely. She has Malfoy, doesn’t she? After Theo’s death she focused her rage into helping him more ardently. While he didn’t know what had occurred, her bewitched tongue not allowing her to tell him or anyone outside the Mysteries, he recognised that something cataclysmic had occurred. Sympathetic, Malfoy gave her the space to grieve, never said anything about the times she spaced out, or that one horrible incident when he arrived at her flat in the middle of a cry.

Hermione turned to the water again, slipping her hands into her pockets. This entire failed venture to find closure basically solidified her decision to leave the Ministry. Like usual, Snape had been correct. Hermione needed to do something else. Even though her friendship with Malfoy had flourished, the other parts of her life were woefully subpar. It was time to find a way to heal from her own wounds.

It would have been poetic to have, at that instance, the sun peek out from behind the clouds to emphasise the righteousness of her choice. But so rarely did life work like that… it wasn’t full of idealised moments like in a Muggle film. However, Hermione didn’t feel like she needed a sign of a higher-power, she had always made her own way about things, and this wasn’t anything different. It had just taken her longer to find her way through it.

\---

Snape was waiting for her on a bench near the roundabout, as promised. He was once again in his customary head-to-toe black, although she imagined he didn’t need an advanced cooling charm today. Snape’s long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. One arm was flung over the back of the bench, and an open book was held in his free hand. She couldn’t see the title as she approached, but the face of Nizar Qabbani was displayed on the back of the book jacket.

Hermione crumpled heavily beside him. Mercifully, he didn’t mutter a greeting or say anything to her at all, but rather went on reading as if she hadn’t yet arrived.

“It’s grey in Lancaster too,” Hermione finally said, holding her hands in her lap.

Snape turned his head to look at her better, but only just, before he replied evenly, “I was tired of the heat so I dismantled the sun. Old dark spell, only passed down through the Princes.”

She chuckled hollowly. “You’re incorrigible.”

He shrugged easily. Nonverbally, he slowly shrank his book until it became small enough to fit easily in his pocket. After stowing it, he replied, “Better than being a conformist.”

“A bit of an anarchist in you, is there?”

“I’m a Manc, Granger, there was nothing else to be in the seventies. Plus, the music was good.” Snape turned his body to her then, crossing his nearest ankle on top of his other knee. “The Muggle and Wizarding Governments have more in common than they think; the most important being that neither can be trusted.”

Despite her low mood, she smiled at his assessment. “Seems counterintuitive then, doesn't it? To work in the corrupt government?”

“Sometimes the best way to keep tabs on everyone is to do so right under their noses.” Snape turned his head to look down the lane, his loose hair spilling off his shoulder.

After a moment’s pause, Hermione said, “You know, I often forget that you grew up in the North. Because -”

“Because I made it a point of erasing that part of my life to fit in?” he asked her, swivelling his head back around and catching her gaze.

Hermione dipped her head in agreement. “Something like that,” she said. “I understand, to an extent. I had to abandon pieces of my personality in my youth too. To fit in.”

Snape’s dark eyes skirted over her face. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying to decipher, but Hermione couldn’t stop hoping she’d pass his muster. Seeking his approval was so often hard-won and sought after, and she needed to feel a success today rather than another failure. Eventually, he pushed a small brown bag that sat by his hip closer to her. “I took the liberty on the way here.”

Hermione smiled kindly at him, and she felt her cheeks warm at his tender gesture. The crest on the bag was a fancy curly script that pretentiously spelled ‘Chocolate’ without the ‘e’. Gingerly, she opened the bag and peered in to see two chocolate slabs.

“Salted caramel,” Snape uttered softly.

“How did you know that this is my favourite kind?” Hermione asked, head whipping up to make eye contact with him.

While he spoke, he tipped his head away, allowing the curtain of his hair to fall around his face, “You always dig out the caramel biscuits first.”

Despite the nature of her morning, she felt her eyes prick with tears for the first time. Sheepish, she wiped away the wetness and whispered her thanks. Hermione’s heart fluttered at this unexpected kindness. Miserably, she did not feel like she deserved his compassion. Growing resolved, she decided to send Malfoy another owl today and ask him - no, tell him - that she was going to include Snape in their confidence. Her conscience was satiated at this and Hermione hoped that she hadn’t run out of time. Sullen, she snapped off a piece of the chocolate with her teeth.

 _Circe!_ Of course the chocolate was absolutely divine. _Bugger it all_ , she thought pathetically. Snape was being absolutely delightful, offering her decadent chocolate, and here she was… being completely dishonest to his face. But, she reminded herself, not for long.

\---

In short order, they were once again at the back of the studio tucked behind obnoxiously large crates. Severus hadn’t pushed for more information from Granger about her morning’s activities. Her mood was certainly enough of an indication as to how things went. That, and how she completely devoured the chocolate he had purchased for her. He’d never be able to admit that he completely understood what made women tick; the infatuation of Reeves amongst the women of the crew a prime example. But he was nothing if not a quick study. Now, as the two of them were settling in for another day of surveillance, Granger had been able to pull together her wits and shape them into the normal insufferable Gryffindor bravado.

Severus was so caught up in his own thoughts that he had missed a crucial detail on set this morning. Thankfully, Granger had not. “Why do they all have yellow covered production schedules? Do you think they changed something?” she asked as she stood on her toes, looking around the set.

Severus plucked out their dog-eared copy from his pocket and enlarged it. He hastily flipped through it and ran one long finger down the week’s schedule. “It says they were supposed to be filming in the Great Hall today, but the lights aren’t even on in that set.” He tipped his head to the new constructed set in the middle. A familiar chamber with four long tables down its length was in place of Diagon Alley.

“They must have changed something, then. _Shite_ ,” Granger breathed, the panic evident in her voice. “Will you cast a _Disillusion_ over me?”

Slightly startled at the request, Severus turned to her with an eyebrow raised.

She countered quickly, “You know charms cast on bodies are stronger when someone else does the incantation.”

Acquiescing, Severus placed the tip of his wand on top of her head and mumbled the enchantment. His magic rippled easily over Granger’s form until she disappeared from view. “Don’t do anything remarkably stupid, Granger,” he reminded.

Severus felt more than heard her huff of indignation.

After several tense moments, an unattended production binder slowly faded out of existence from its place on an empty crew member's seat. Shortly after that, Granger reappeared by his side, shaking herself free of his spell. Her hair flared out as his magic drizzled off of her, dissipating into the ether. Frustrated, she slapped the binder on the crate and flipped to today’s date.

“Bugger,” Granger whined again. “They’re packing up equipment today. If anyone is doing any reshoots they’re doing so against a stand-in.”

“Why are they packing up?” Severus asked over her shoulder, skimming the organised grid.

She flipped to the next page. Alarmed, she muttered, “They’re going off-site. North. Glencoe.”

“For how long?”

“Several days, it looks like.” Granger was speaking quickly, her words meshing together, a true sign of her agitation. “They’re starting tomorrow! They must be behind in the production. Why else would they work over a weekend? How quickly do you think we can get there? Did you have any plans for the weekend?” she asked as she looked over at him. However, before Severus could answer, she continued on, “Murphy is going to love this. Can you imagine her face when we ask for an overtime slip?”

Severus read a few lines down as she continued her tirade. Upon seeing the scenes they were planning to shoot up north, a cold jolt ran through him. “Voldemort,” he uttered.

Granger’s eyes cut to him. “What -” she began.

With one long finger he pointed to the detail in the binder. “They’re going to Glencoe for the Death Eater scenes. Apparently a foggy, mountainous valley is just the appropriate setting for the lair of the Dark One.”

Granger’s response was immediate, full of concern, “I can survey by myself, if you -”

“I can handle it, Granger,” Severus said automatically, pushing down the irritation at her fretting over him. In an effort to calm her, he offered, “Seeing a random actor portray him will not be the same as the horror of his actual resurrection.”

She rested her hand on his arm. Severus’ eyes flicked up to hers at the gesture. Granger’s voice lowered, “If at any time you need to… step out for a breath of fresh air…” she trailed off.

Severus nodded at her, recognising the kindness she was trying to give him.

Discouraged that their investigations seemed to be one impasse after another, he sighed. Severus was annoyed that there was a sudden change amongst the production. Irritatingly, it felt similar to when Albus would withhold information about crucial assignments, endangering not only his life but the entire fucking operation. It had become so bad towards the end, Severus was almost relieved to learn that Albus was merely suffering from a fatal curse rather than simply becoming senile.

Curiously and in contrast to his good sense, there was a small part of him that was growing intrigued about the new location. After all, Glencoe was a lush, green, beautiful landscape. The innate magic there was supposed to be very potent. And here he was visiting the area with a beautiful, intelligent woman. As if they were travelling on holiday. The very idea nearly made him more nervous than coming face-to-face with the villain of his past.

\---

Once she returned to the Ministry, Hermione sprinted to the owlery. With a shaky hand, she scrawled out a short note. To emphasise her point she wrote _URGENT REPLY REQUESTED_ across the front of the envelope.

_M-_

_I need to see you immediately._

_-G_

\---

“I can’t believe you’re going to Glencoe,” Dottie muttered, flipping over the overtime forms at the Yellow Tulip’s bar. In a spark of managerial privilege she had decided to finish filling them out while eating dinner, rather than accrue Hermione’s wrath over a delay.

“It’s _work_ ,” Granger reminded pointedly. She pushed her bangers around her plate passively.

Dottie groused, “You know, the most romantic place I’ve ever been to while working for the mighty Ministry was Hull.”

Granger scrunched her nose. “Not really what I’d call romantic, Murphy, but if that’s what you’d -”

“That’s the bloody point, Granger,” Murphy snarled as she scrawled her signature at the bottom of the final sheet. The papers instantly disappeared, filed away with copies at records and payroll. “You get to travel somewhere magical, literally magical - it’s practically oozing in it, or so I’ve heard - and I am stuck in the office doing expense reports and training new Unspeakables.”

Hermione pointed her fork at Dottie. “You were the one who wanted to go into management.”

Taking a bite of her burger, Dottie thought back to the time seven years ago when they had been cubicle mates. _Oh, to be young again_ , she reminisced. “You could have done it too, Granger. You had the -”

“Don’t say experience, Murph. I had a recognisable name. That’s all.”

“Well, maybe you were on to something back then, anyway.” Dottie shrugged. “To not accept it, I mean. It’s all worked out, I suppose, since you’re going out on a bloody vacation in the highlands,” she teased.

Granger stabbed her sausage, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not really for pleasure -”

Realisation dawning on her, Dottie interrupted, “No, I suppose not. Not with Snape there -”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Hermione attempted to clarify rather quickly.

Suspicious at Granger’s tone, Dottie turned to her with an upturned eyebrow. “Oh?” The other eyebrow followed after Granger’s face grew scarlet. “Sod it, Hermione. You really _do_ like him.” She dropped her hamburger on the plate, the fillings spilling out of the bun. Murphy felt her vision blur as everything around them faded to black.

“Dot!” Hermione shook her shoulder.

Murphy blinked rapidly, coming back to centre. “You said last week - when you were absolutely sloshed by the way - that you liked him. I had no idea that you -”

“No!”

“Oh, I should have seen it!”

“What?”

Murphy gestured wildly with her hands. “You two! You’re absolutely terrible together! The way you carry on, antagonising everyone, and then scarpering off to laugh at your antics. Montmorency’s Potions, he’s practically your bloody partner in crime, isn’t he?” When Hermione didn’t respond, Dottie turned to find that the other woman was cradling her flushed face in her hands. “I’m on to something here, aren’t I?”

“Can you stop being an Unspeakable for just once in your bloody life?” Hermione whined as she took a big gulp of her wine.

“Oh, Granger,” Dottie said as she clapped her friend’s shoulder. She was terrified at the prospect of the two of them taking the world on together, but it had been so long since Hermione had even had a passing romantic interest in anyone. This turn of events was, while unexpected, very welcome indeed. “You’ve got it bad. And I have to say one more thing and then I won’t say anything else about it.”

Sceptical, Hermione looked at her from the corner of her eye.

“He’s a damn better choice than a Weasley.”

For the first time in her career, Dottie discovered that she was actually eager for a debriefing upon her friend’s return.

\---

After arriving home, Hermione discovered a disgruntled owl waiting for her on her terrace. Its displeasure at being kept waiting evident by the copious amount of droppings on the floor planks. In a final retribution, the bird bit her when she plucked the letter from his clutches. As she read the familiar looping formal script she felt her stomach drop.

_H-_

_Forgive me if it’s not my place, but I saw that your letter came with a request for an urgent response. Draco is out - something to do with work - and he won’t be back until next week. I can attempt to forward it but he warned me he would be untraceable._

_-N_

\---

Snape and Hermione had spent the following day making their way to Glencoe. A few inquisitive questions, a scouting trip disguised as a leisurely car tour (the fact that Snape could drive both interested and enticed her), and the employment of an extendable ear or two when they had stopped for lunch all accumulated into successfully finding the weekend’s filming location.

Now, they were settling into a nearby accommodation, an inn near Loch Achtriochtan, for their weekend’s reconnaissance. As she scanned the space, she removed her valise from her pocket and enlarged it. The room was clean, neatly prepared, and smelled of fresh linen. Most impressive though, was the view of Aonach Dubh, one of the Three Sisters, directly outside her window. Mesmerised, she dropped her bag on the bed and crossed the room to see it better. The peak stretched into the sky. Regardless of the mountain’s erosion over the aeons, it still held a sense of purpose, of majesty within its place here. _Dottie was right_ , Hermione thought, _there is an innate magic here_. After staring at the beautiful green landscape until her eyes became glassy, Hermione began to unpack her toiletries.

Despite the mundane activity, there was a ribbon of dread laced in her actions. She had completely failed to meet with Malfoy before leaving London. Hermione’s worst nightmare had materialised; she had run out of time. In addition, if his mother’s note was accurate, the odds that he was also in the vicinity were high. Hermione would have to stay attentive all day tomorrow while on set to prevent Snape from running into his godson. Her heart lurched as if it was trying to dig itself out of her chest. This level of deceit had grown unacceptable. There was only one thing left to do then, she decided. She was going to tell Snape on her own tonight, and hope that Malfoy could forgive her for her breach of loyalty. The other option, continuing to keep her partner in the dark, was unbearable.

Hermione startled at the loud rap on the door. Blinking several times, she realised she had spaced out while putting away her clothes. Hermione roughly shoved her old, frumpy nightshirt into the dresser behind her. Catching her appearance in the mirror above the wardrobe, she attempted to smooth out her frizzy hair. If anything, her ministrations only made it worse.

Hermione’s anxiety was building; it wasn’t hard to decipher who was standing in the hallway outside her room. The conversation ahead was going to be incredibly unpleasant. She wiped her sweaty hands down the front of her yellow dress before opening the door. Her partner was standing stiffly in the corridor. Snape had brought along his leather jacket for the trip, she noted immediately. Her gaze continued to swerve down his form past his Pink Floyd shirt under his jacket. Hermione’s eyes momentarily snagged on the sight of his pale hands tucked into his dark trousers’ pockets.

The sound of Snape’s deep voice broke her inordinate concentration on his wardrobe choices. Embarrassed at being so distracted, she felt a deep blush run down her neck. “Ready for dinner, Granger?” he asked, his eyes rising from her sandaled feet, past her off-shoulder dress, and all the way to her untameable hair. Hermione felt it twist under his inquisitive gaze.

“Sure,” she stammered. “Let me just...” She turned, snatched her wand off the top of the dresser, and slipped it into her enlarged pocket. “Ready,” she said as she flicked her hair over her bare shoulders.

Outside her door, they both hesitated to move down the hall towards the stairs. Snape turned his head away from her, his loose hair falling across his face. His voice low, he said, “I don’t think I mentioned it after leaving London… but you look nice today, Granger.”

“Oh,” Hermione breathed, the compliment feeling like a gift. Without warning, her mouth went off running, “And you too, of course. I see that you’re wearing your leather again. I do like that -” She stopped herself short, realising too late what she had just said. She wasn’t sure how it was possible but she felt her blush from before rebound twofold. She tried again and failed to recover the conversation, “Er, not that I often think about you in your jacket... oh no...” Finally, she simply asked, “You said food, yes?” She waved her hand down the hall, attempting to move them away from this awful, awkward exchange.

Snape turned back at the question and automatically jutted out his elbow. “I’ve heard the food is very good down in the bar.”

“Well, if it’s even half as good as the view it should be a meal to remember,” Hermione responded. While she had meant the landscape that was showcased spectacularly out her window, she realised Snape might take the statement to mean himself. She didn’t have the heart to clarify, besides, he did look very good in leather.

\---

The pair selected a small round table at the far corner of the room, opposite of the live musical act. The cover band comprised only of two musicians: a guitarist, and (most absurdly) an accordionist. Initially, Severus was sceptical at how an abrasive squeezebox could accompany a mellifluous instrument like a guitar. But it was obvious that the musicians had been partners for a long time, and knew their instruments just as well. Their professional chemistry made it astonishingly easy to enjoy the music they created.

In addition to the surprise of the delightful ambience, the food proved to be satisfactory as well. It didn’t hurt matters that Severus’ dinner companion was extremely engaging. He was thoroughly enjoying this downtime with her. True, they had shared meals several times over the last week and a half. Had already been to each other’s flats even. But this time together felt different somehow.

The dim lights of the dark panelled room seemed to emphasise Granger’s features. Her curls alternating between gold and chocolate, the gentle curves of her bare shoulders, the way her fingernails glinted in the light as she adjusted a strap or twisted her hair around in her hand. Severus felt lulled by her presence. He knew it was dangerous. They were technically on assignment. But the reality of it felt like something else entirely.

“Snape?” Hermione asked. Severus’ gaze, which was up to this point outlining her shoulder again, snapped up to her face. Her eyes crinkled, a teasing smile crossed her face. “I asked what you thought about the music.”

Severus quickly recovered from his gaff. Smoothly, he said, “I was unconvinced that the quality of music being accompanied by an accordion would be any good but it strangely complements the guitar, doesn’t it?

“Yes,” Granger said turning towards the stage as the duo began to play a Cat Stevens song, her profile highlighted by the table’s candle. “It’s strange how two instruments, that at first glance seem to be at such great odds, work so well together.”

Severus couldn’t help but wonder if there was a subtext growing under this conversation. He shifted in his chair, leaning into the backrest to be able to appraise her better. “Sometimes opposites do best together, Granger.”

She turned back to look at him and mimicked his posture. Severus wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. “Yes, sometimes,” she muttered. Granger’s eyes flicked down to her empty plate and she traced a finger along a knot in the tabletop. She took a long breath. “Snape, I -”

But Granger was cut off by their waitress stopping at their table to ask if they wanted more wine. They demurred at the same time with a passive wave of a hand. The woman then slid the bill on the table. Severus extended a long leg and pulled out a few Muggle notes from his pocket. As he stood, he asked Granger, “Care for a walk?”

Granger’s eyes twinkled. “A ramble in the dark? How mysterious. And also hazardous. Did you get a good look at the landscape when we arrived? There could be a baobhan sith colony out there.” She spoke quickly, usually a sign of her anxiety, but he couldn’t decipher what she had to be nervous about. It was only him here, and there wasn’t any work to worry about until tomorrow.

Severus chuckled. “I was thinking more of a ramble back to our rooms. We have an early morning, don’t we?”

Granger wrapped her hand around his arm, her thumb absentmindedly running circles over his sleeve. “Not as interesting but much safer, I wager.”

Severus steered them upstairs, down the hallway to where their rooms were side-by-side, and stopped in front of her door. As they stood there on her threshold, her hair appeared to soften under his gaze. In that instant, in the soft light, a subtle blush crossed her cheeks. It was then that Severus inferred that perhaps Granger had been anxious earlier because of _him_. There was no one else here, just himself. She wouldn’t be having this reaction if she was already enamoured to another, to the owner of the mysterious phone he had found at her flat. She wasn’t the type to play the field. Severus knew her irreproachable Gryffindor sensibilities would not allow her to orchestrate that kind of betrayal.

Was it at all possible that she had grown as intrigued in him as he had for her?

“Snape,” she said thickly, his name lingering in the abandoned hall. “It’s late.”

“Yes,” he agreed. Severus’ fingers rose to flick her hair off her shoulder. His hand paused for a long moment, certainly longer than what would be considered proper elsewhere. Was it really this place, the magic of the Highlands, influencing them? Or was it simply that he was here with her, making the environment irrelevant?

“Snape,” she repeated low. Her transfixed eyes, presumably mirroring his own, flicked down to his mouth.

 _Oh, sod it all_ , Severus thought with finality. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he leaned down into her space and brushed her lips with his.

At first, Granger didn’t react. But as Severus began to pull away, she gripped his jacket’s lapels, stood on her toes, and pulled him back down. His hands cupped the back of her head, his fingers snagging in her twisting curls. She smelled like she had in the atrium, a comforting warm vanilla. Granger’s hair was soft, and he wasn’t as concerned as perhaps he should have been when it wrapped itself around his wrists to keep him grounded to her. Severus stepped Hermione against her door and adjusted her angle to match his. Granger’s hands had travelled up his collar to grip on to his hair at his nape. Being here, right now, with her felt perfectly right. Severus’ mind, often buzzing with background noise, had quieted. He only felt Hermione’s magic mingling with his own. After they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. Their breathing the only sound in the hall other than the ticking of the nearby grandfather clock.

Her voice low, she murmured, “It’s late.”

His baritone rumbled in return, “Yes, we’ve established that already.”

“I mean, I should go to bed.” She ran her hands down his front, smoothing his lapels. “Alone, though.” Shyly, Hermione looked up at him through her lashes.

Severus hadn’t expected anything different. If they were going to pursue this seriously, he wanted to do it properly. Not an extended courtship per se, but at the very least, have their first kiss on an altogether different day than the first time they were intimate. Severus nodded, gently disentangled his hands, and took a step back into the hallway.

Bashful, Granger smiled at him with her plump lips. She leaned on the door handle to her room and slipped inside.

He turned to his own door, a sense of fondness growing in his chest. Yes, Severus decided, there is indeed a magic in the Highlands.

\---

On the other side of her door, Hermione slid all the way down to the floor. Silently, tears ran down her cheeks as she covered her quivering mouth with a hand.

Oh, she had done a very, very bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear friend, beta for this work, and fellow Gift Fest-er, [Hold_en](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hold_en/pseuds/Hold_en), drew this wonderful piece of art for this fic. You can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344823/chapters/53380045)! Hopefully, this makes up for what I've done?


	9. Chapter 9

After a complete shite night of little sleep, Hermione woke with a heavy weight on her chest. She felt suffocated by her guilt. Her reaction, while making sense in context, wasn’t one she had ever experienced after kissing someone. And it certainly made her feel worse.

Why had she even allowed it to happen? Hermione wanted to tell Snape about her involvement with Swish and Flick at dinner. But then the waitress interrupted her, not allowing another suitable opening. By the time they had arrived at her door, Hermione had felt drawn to Snape in a way that bordered on dangerous. It had felt safe with him in the dim light, and she had let down her guard. She couldn’t help but partly blame this area. The magic felt tangible here and seemed to influence absolutely everything. When Severus had kissed her it had felt so right, and she was unable to stop her body from reacting to his. Hermione’s mind had gone blank and quiet, and the only thing she felt was the length of his lithe body pressed against hers. Honestly, it took all of her willpower to not invite him in afterwards. At least she had enough awareness left to not make that mistake.

Maeve have mercy, Hermione had really bungled everything. But, she thought with her hope renewing, it didn’t mean that she still couldn't tell him. She could tell him today. The odds of Malfoy showing first thing in the morning were null, if his normal habits continued outside of London. Also, Snape would be less likely to have a major blowup over her deceit if she confessed around witnesses. 

That was all she could do, she thought, just tell him and take the brunt of his rage. It would spare Malfoy at the very least. She knew Malfoy didn’t have many Wizarding connections left and his relationship with Snape was cherished. Resolved, she knew she would do what she could to protect it.

An hour later, she entered the lounge on the ground floor of the Inn. Severus, in his usual black, was easy to spot folded in a chair in front of the empty hearth. Snape’s pale fingers languidly flipped through a Muggle magazine. Hermione noticed with interest that he had decided to tie back his hair this morning, and it revealed the planes of his face. 

Hermione’s nervousness exploded at seeing him. She suddenly realized she was unsure about how to address him. Certainly, ‘Snape’ was correct but, Merlin, it was so bloody formal. Hermione was confident that it wasn’t considered polite to call someone you’ve kissed by their last name like some kind of -

“Granger,” Snape said evenly at her approach, the warmth in his eyes the only indication that anything had changed. Hermione stopped short. _Well_ , she thought, _that solves that particular quandary rather neatly_. ‘Professionalism or give me death’ should really be written on the man’s epitaph.

“Snape,” she returned before sitting on the arm of the chair next to him. 

His dark eyes slowly moved up her body. “A little overdressed for the weather, aren’t you?”

“It can get cold in the Highlands,” she sniffed, tugging on the hem of her cotton long-sleeved shirt. Intending to preemptively quiet her body’s reaction to his, she shielded herself in jeans and sleeves. Unfortunately, it did not work as her tummy was still flipping in his proximity. Even with a cooling charm she felt increasingly hot and bothered.

“In August,” he said matter-of-factly.

“It’s foggy out there right now,” she waved a hand to the window, attempting to justify her choice in a way that wouldn’t offend the man. His pride would be hurt if he knew she had covered her body as a way of creating layers between them. “So it goes to show that -” But she stopped herself when she saw the mirth dancing in his eyes. “Oh, you’re still awful,” she muttered.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth upturning. “And?” he drawled.

She blew out a puff of air and dislodged the hair around her face. _This is it, Granger_ , she prepped herself. Gathering the very last of her courage, twirling her hair in her fingers, she began, “Snape, I have something to tell you…” But she trailed off when Severus’ expectant expression turned to one of confusion, his attention on the window behind her. She turned, looking through the glass onto the empty front road. “What was it?” she asked.

Snape blinked several times and shook his head. “Nothing. Trick of the mind.” 

“No,” she chided as he stood. He slapped the magazine on an end table. “What was it?”

Terse, he replied, “If it becomes relevant I will share, Granger.” His shoulders appeared a little stiff.

“Keeping sec -” but Hermione immediately cut herself off. It would not do well to accuse him of keeping secrets when she had been keeping a rather big one herself. She watched one of his eyebrows rise slowly in query. Feeling wrongfooted, she rambled on, “Keeping seconds, you know, time, yes?” Hermione popped off the chair’s arm and began for the door. “You know, keeping to a timetable. Can’t waste a moment, can we? Don’t want to lollygag now that we’ve -”

“For Merlin’s sake, Granger, I get it,” he muttered as he followed her out the door, his hand lightly on her lower back. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised you’ve yet to cast a _Tempus_ and float it in my face.”

She was certain that her laugh sounded shrill as she ran down the steps to the parking area. But she hoped he’d excuse it. Maybe he’d blame it on the Highlands. If the magic here was partly responsible for their kiss, it could easily accept responsibility for her skittishness.

\---

They disillusioned themselves while walking behind the tree line beyond the Inn. The film location was only a half-mile down the road. They could already see the caravan of vehicles, trailers, and canopies. During their scouting mission yesterday they had taken note that there was very little proper cover; no large crates to crouch behind this time. They would have to slink around and hope they weren’t inadvertently stumbled into. 

Severus broke the silence as they trudged down the lane. “This is highly unrealistic. We never had the pleasure of a setting like this during revels.”

Hermione snorted. After a pause she muttered, “No, from what I remember of the Malfoy estate back then, it was rather in tatters by the time your lot took over, wasn’t it?”

She heard him hiss through his teeth. “Apologies, Granger, I had forgotten that you -”

Hermione began to wave him off, he hadn’t meant to dredge up her personal unpleasant memories regarding the Manor. Just as quickly, she realized he wouldn’t be able to see her dismissal. Blindly, she swept her hand out next to her, hoping to make contact with him. Finding Snape’s arm, Hermione brushed her fingers along his sleeve trying to reassure him. “It’s fine. It happened a long time ago.”

“It’s never been fine,” he grumbled, the irritation in his voice evident. She could visualize the curl in his lip. 

Hermione turned around to where she surmised he was next to her. “Snape, it _was_ a long time ago. And things are better now, aren’t they?”

Exasperated, he reminded, “There’s still prejudice and hate.”

Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. “There will always be hate, I’m afraid,” she said low. “But… there are ways to work against it.” At his snort she continued, “Don’t think of it as fixing the world, that concept is too big. Rather imagine that you’re responsible for cleaning up your street. One person acting kindly often has a domino effect.” Remembering her unlikely alliance with a Slytherin, her voice became softer, “Besides, views can change, and friendships can cross old political lines. Everything just takes time and patience.”

Hermione heard Severus hum from next to her. Whether it was because he agreed with her or not, she couldn’t tell.

They were silent as they approached the site’s perimeter. The lack of cover forced them to loiter on the far side of a canopy adjacent to the trailers. The production was still setting up for the day and things seemed to be going as planned trouble-free. Hermione cast a _Muffliato_. 

Even though her partner couldn’t see it, Hermione still gestured to the largest trailer in the queue of vehicles. “I’m guessing that big one must be for whoever is playing Voldemort.” Hermione began to grow nervous now that they had arrived. Her confession was imminent. She began to babble, “Wait, what was his name for the film? Deathdear? No, that can’t be right, that sounds awful.” Her eyebrows scrunched as she tried to think back to what was listed on the production binder that she had accidentally left in her room.

Snape snapped at her, “Andros’ Patronus, Granger, did you not bring the binder?”

She elected to not answer. She just needed another minute to gather her courage and she’d tell him. Snape didn’t need to know how distracted she was by the potential fallout of what she was going to admit.

While impossible, Hermione could have sworn that she heard his eyes rolling. He eventually said, “Well it wasn’t Deathdear.”

Hermione began to list off names, “Metumortis. Doodsvlucht. Vollanmo.”

“Are you even speaking English anymore, Granger?” he asked with a hint of annoyance.

She growled, her irritation at him misplaced, “Has it never occurred to you that in French, Voldemort’s name means -”

However, Hermione was unable to finish her sentence because the trailer’s door opened and a man stepped out. Hermione’s breath left her in a rush and she felt her knees buckle. Her vision started to fade to black. A sense of horror crashed through her, and Hermione lurched violently and grabbed blindly for the man next to her. If Severus hadn’t noticed who had just exited the trailer she certainly drew his attention to it.

Stunned, he growled, “What the fuck?”

Malfoy adjusted the buttons on his Muggle suit jacket as he descended onto the grass. He sauntered past their hiding spot to one of the production staff members. Malfoy was handed a clipboard and he flipped through several pages.

Hermione was having a hard time forming anything that would resemble a word. Everything felt heavy, her tongue… her heart. She relinquished her grip on Severus and bent over, hands on her knees.

Snape continued his tirade, “Goddamit! I was hoping it wasn’t him.” She could feel the ire rolling off him in waves. “I thought I saw him drive by the Inn this morning.”

She struggled to get out even one sentence. “Just because he’s here doesn’t mean anything nefarious.”

“Granger, you don’t know him like I do.” His voice was growing more acidic by the minute. “The Malfoys have had a spectacular fall from grace. If he’s orchestrating this out of spite, he can bring down the whole bloody Wizarding community with him.”

“No, no, Malfoy wouldn’t -” she pleaded, desperate for him to understand.

Snape muttered hotly, “I can’t believe that after everything my own godson is doing something this foolish…”

“Now, wait,” Hermione said, hoping she could make him see reason. “I don’t think -” but the _crackle_ of a hasty Apparition resounded around their muffled space completely cutting her off. She took a moment to try to gather her breath, still bent over at the waist. Oh, things were quite bad. Not only was she unable to protect Malfoy’s secret, she had also been unable to share her part in the entire plot. Straightening and not feeling faint, Hermione hoped she wasn’t about to splinch herself. She spun on the spot back to the Inn.

\---

Severus was absolutely livid. The edges of his periphery had gone red, everything was coloured in betrayal. He felt like he had been squeezed by an Occamy, his entire body felt entirely too tight. He paced violently around the room, not even bothering to mute his thundering steps. The implications of Draco orchestrating such a high-profile slap in the face to the Statute of Secrecy was a low blow. Hadn’t he given testimony and supplied memories to keep the boy out of Azkaban? Didn’t his godson know how close he was to sharing his father’s fate? After ten years of imprisonment followed by a sentence of permanent house arrest, Lucius was only a shell of the Wizarding aristocrat he used to be. Severus had saved his godson from that and this is how he repays the favour? 

By risking an exposure of their world? The very thing that Severus had risked everything for, had given two decades of his life for, had practically sold his soul for... His feet thudded across the threadbare floor. Hundreds had died on both sides of the conflict and for what? To have it become null and void just decades later?

Severus was so deeply invested in his feral, rage-filled mind, and lost in the comforting pattern of his treading, that he was completely unaware that someone entered his room until he heard the door click. He spun immediately with his wand drawn towards the trespasser. Agonisingly, Severus’ hand shook with adrenaline, and he considered the loss of control a sign of weakness. His dark eyes flicked past his trembling hand to the individual who dared breach his space. Once they landed on the wide eyes of his partner Severus’ ire deflated enough to allow him to resheath his wand without comment.

He went to sweep his hair back, but then remembered that he had tied it back this morning. Aggravated, Severus pulled out the hair tie and snapped it around his wrist. He felt an immediate comfort once his hair fell around his shoulders again. Severus felt safer with it down. He could hide behind it to either buy himself time to formulate a proper defence or to simply hide if Granger began to berate him. After what transpired last night, the latter would sting his already wounded pride, Severus knew. But she was nothing if not a professional and it would be easy for her to think that he had over-reacted most spectacularly.

She approached him timidly, as if he was a frightened dog backed into a corner of an alley. Perhaps he really was. Severus had not felt this wrongfooted in a long time.

“Snape?” Hermione questioned softly.

“Granger,” he answered briskly. 

She gestured with her hands, palms up. “You left rather suddenly, don’t you think?”

Severus didn’t want to have a fight with this woman. He had entertained other future prospects with her after he retired to his room last night. And yet, Severus couldn’t help but think she was pushing him on purpose. Irritated, he spat, “What good would have come from staying?”

She took a deep breath before replying, “Maybe - maybe there is a reasonable explanation to everything.”

Despite his good intentions to not take his ire out on her, his voice grew caustic, “An explanation as to why Draco Malfoy is risking everything we fought for two decades ago? We lost people in that War, Hermione, you’d do best to remember.”

Hermione flinched at the use of her first name being used in such a harsh tone. “I truly believe that our world isn’t at risk.”

“Is this that bloody fucking childish Gryffindor idealism you’re trying to throw at me?” Severus questioned crisply as he sat heavily on his room’s sofa.

“Is me being a Gryffindor really so bad?” she asked quietly, stepping closer to him.

He sighed wearily, rubbing his chin with a hand. “Granger -”

She took another step towards him. “Severus, there’s something you don’t know about Draco.”

“I hardly believe that to be the case,” he replied shortly. After a brief moment, however, all the pieces suddenly ticked into place. “Of bloody course,” Severus muttered under his breath. He had been reluctant to pursue the matter but now he found himself in the very situation he had hoped to avoid. The owner of the mysterious phone had to be Draco. So, of course Granger knew Draco well. He stiffened as he realised the level of her betrayal. “You haven’t been honest with me about something, haven’t you?” Severus leaned back, feeling his features grow cold. Once Hermione caught his gaze, her face crumpled. Severus immediately knew he was right. Very slowly, emphasising each word, he said, “You. Lied. To. Me.”

To her credit, Granger squared her shoulders and faced him head-on. Her eyes were determined despite her quivering lip. “I did,” she admitted freely. The confession immediately shattered the fondness that had begun to bloom in his chest last night.

Severus leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his face. Already feeling fatigued by the deception he asked, “How long?”

“Five years.”

The answer surprised him. Not because Severus thought Hermione incapable of a long-term relationship. But rather that Draco had been able to keep it a secret from him this long. Seeking clarification, he asked again, “How long?” Severus lifted his head to look at her.

“Five years,” Hermione repeated. “Draco and I have been working together for five years.”

 _Working together_. Admittedly, Severus felt out of touch with modern slang, but this was beginning to sound like a professional relationship. Not an intimate one like he had assumed. He once again felt caught unawares. Severus felt angry and confused at the same time. “What?” he blurted out.

Granger stood there dumbly for several long moments. When she spoke, she did so in short sentences as if he was a simpleton, “Draco and I. The mobile app. The movie.”

“You’re not seeing him?” Severus asked, needing reassurance as to where her desires lied despite the way the new evidence leaned. 

A look of mild horror passed over her face. “You mean like a - a boyfriend?” She grimaced. “Why would you even think that?”

He tried to speak as evenly as he could, “I found a spare mobile in your sofa a few days ago. You both had acted strange around each other in Diagon Alley. I had put the details together -”

Affronted, Hermione’s face twisted into a scowl. “Wrongly. You had the pieces but you didn’t put the puzzle together correctly. And how could you think so little of me?” She gestured fiercely between the two of them. Her curls began to twist as if they were serpents escaping a flame. “As if I would kiss you while I had a, what? A lover back home or something?”

Severus, unwilling to concede her point, chose to ignore it entirely. In addition to feeling angry at his godson, he now began to feel incredibly foolish at himself. Truly, he did think better of Hermione, and he had let his tongue talk before he could take it back. Enraged at himself, he chose to fall back on past habits; he focused his anger outward rather than in. Yes, it was childish and harmful but at this point it had become about self-preservation. Hadn’t his pride been wounded enough for one day? Severus popped up off his seat. Granger took a step back. “Did you deceive Draco somehow then, Granger? Put him down this path? The boy isn’t smart enough to have thought of this on his own. What were you doing? Hoping to send him to Azkaban?”

Her face grew harder during his tirade. “What! No! Why would I even do that?”

“Because you so often feel like you know better than everyone else,” he spat, his lips curling threateningly. “If you thought that the Wizengamot had done wrong by acquitting him you’d surely have the brainpower to overturn the judgement by your own abhorrent methods.”

Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin flat line. Her fists clenched at her side and her hair rose around her face, sparking. She inhaled sharply through her nose. “I was fucking helping him, you paranoid idiot.” Shocked, Severus was unable to respond. He felt his body buzzing in some kind of bubbling mixture of discomposure and acrimony. Hermione barreled onward, “What was Draco doing immediately after the War, Snape?”

“He was taking care of his mother,” he replied automatically, once again feeling like he knew nothing of the truth behind the events that had transpired around him.

“And then after?” 

“Odd jobs.”

“Exactly,” her shoulders deflated. “No one would hire him. Not with his name or face. Do you realise how demoralising that is? To be riddled with your father’s sins? To carry the burden of your family on your shoulders so young?”

It was difficult to not let his temper run away from him again. He spoke through gritted teeth, “You know very well that I do.”

“Then why didn’t you help him?!” she hissed, tossing her hands into the air.

Indignant, he snarled, “I did! I put in good words, loaned money -”

“He wanted to make good on his own. Gods, why is that so hard to understand? Five years ago, we ran into each other outside the Transportation Department. He had yet another disastrous interview. I felt sorry for him so I offered to buy him coffee.” Severus felt his eyebrows rise and she shot him a look. “He accepted because he was so broken by then, he didn’t even think to turn down a free drink. Coffee turned into lunch. Which turned into tea. We hashed the entire thing out in one day.”

“You developed -”

“No, but I fronted the money to hire people who could,” Hermione said standing straighter. “I inherited funds from a distant aunt. Thanks to his hard work, Draco has found success in the Muggle world in a way that the Wizarding one was never open to him. He’s successful, so much so that a film studio approached him to make a film based on the app. He’s finally happy and he’s able to provide for his family. Have you ever wondered how Malfoy Manor has continued to be maintained despite the family coffers being depleted for war concessions?”

Not yet ready to concede to her argument, he responded hotly, “Except you’re putting everything at risk -”

“Only if people find out -” she interrupted, cutting him off. “And even if they do connect Draco or myself to either project - after dismantling several aliases - the law cannot touch us. We looked over the paperwork ourselves. The government cannot persecute against parodies. Which is all that this is.”

Severus taunted, “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Granger.” Despite her confidence, he could easily see at least half a dozen ways this could go pear-shaped with both his godson and Hermione languishing away in Azkaban.

“I _am_ sure,” Hermione replied with conviction. “I spent almost an entire decade in the Department of Law Enforcement. I know my way around the laws. We have covered our arses.” She pointed to herself as she said, “And _I_ don’t regret helping Malfoy.”

He was irritated that Granger seemed to have thought this through to a nauseating degree. Although the alternative, rushing into things without a safety net, would have been far worse. Maybe he wouldn’t have to make weekly visits to Azkaban after all. But the betrayal of not only his godson keeping him in the dark for years, but now his partner not taking him into her confidence hurt just as badly. Especially after he had taken the leap into deepening their relationship last night. 

“Sometimes it’s not worth it, playing the saviour,” he warned. “Not when so much is at stake.”

“No,” Hermione retorted sharply. “Draco needed someone. He needed a friend. I will never regret helping him.” Softly, almost so low that he could barely hear it, she said, “Even if it cost me quite dearly.”

“There were certainly less foolish ways to do so,” he agreed. Severus deflated entirely, the conversation draining him. His shoulders hunched as he turned towards the window, keeping Hermione at his back. Even after her explanations, her betrayal continued to sting. The feelings growing between them had felt genuine but if she had lied about this… what else has she lied about? His doubts wound around inside his chest and dropped into the pit of his stomach. It was too much, too soon, and he felt unmoored. Severus grasped onto the last nail he had in his arsenal, and hammered it into the coffin, where their relationship, professional and otherwise, lied. “See yourself out, Granger, I believe we’re done here.” 

Severus didn’t need to look at her to know that she heard what he really meant. Her sharp inhale said everything. We’re done here. We’re done with us. It was simply better to end everything rather than drag things out. Things were better this way. 

To her credit, Granger did not attempt to justify herself any further. She left him without saying another word. After she had shut the door behind her, Severus felt a surprising pang of grief. This assignment certainly did not end the way he had expected or desired. Severus began to Occlude, to build up the walls to shut out these tumultuous feelings he did not want to feel. He wasn’t certain how long he had stood unmoving from the window. But by the time he felt he had compartmentalised everything to his satisfaction the shadows outside had deepened and stretched as far as he felt his heart had.


	10. Chapter 10

“You never told me you were going to be there!” Hermione was livid, she felt like she was _Incendio_ personified. She had hoped by the time Malfoy returned to London her emotions would have thawed. But things still felt incredibly raw five days later. The edges of her vision were beginning to grow scarlet, her skin prickled and was taut with tension. She attempted to alleviate her agitation by pacing across the length of her small lounge.

Malfoy snorted and leaned back into her sofa. “You never asked!” She shot him a glare and he quickly amended, “Or rather, you asked far too late, as it happened. You should have purchased a mobile when I asked you to a few years ago. A simple text and -”

Hermione shook her head, her hair expanding in fury. “Malfoy,” her hands shook in rage and it aggravated her further. She clenched them by her sides. “Seeing you in Glencoe was -”

Malfoy interrupted her. “A big fucking mistake.”

Hermione growled and tossed her unruly hair back away from her face. Her fingers snagged in her tightening curls. “That is somehow an under exaggeration, if you can believe it.”

“Look, Granger…” Malfoy said as he folded himself forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. Hermione continued to prowl in the space around them. “Granger!” he barked. “Can you just sit down? I can’t stand all the pacing. You’re acting just like Sn-”

She felt her heart squeeze at Malfoy’s intended reference. “Don’t finish that sentence,” Hermione warned through her teeth. She crossed the room and sat heavily in her chair. Malfoy held up a hand in surrender, and pressed his lips together. Hermione propped an elbow on the arm rest and held her head in her hand.

Several long minutes passed in silence other than Hermione’s loud irate breathing. Malfoy spoke softly and slowly, as if Hermione was a flighty Mooncalf, “I am assuming, based on this reaction, it did not go well.”

Hermione tensed her jaw and it cracked under the pressure. “No.”

Malfoy’s shoulders deflated. Regret was laced in his voice’s undertones, “Granger, I didn’t mean to -”

“To ruin my life?” Hermione winced immediately. She hadn’t meant that but she was so damn angry over this mess. She might have had a chance at something with Severus and now the entire idea was unapproachable. It was her own bloody fault, she knew; Snape was right. She often thought she knew what was best for people, and she had acted so without taking his opinions or feelings into account.

“You don’t mean that,” Malfoy muttered, quickly dismissing her barb. “You’re just cross right now. And -” he hurried on at Hermione’s indignant snort, “- you have every right to be. You’re correct, of course. I should have told you when I was visiting the production, especially as you’re investigating it.”

After a beat, Hermione uttered morosely, “ _Was_ investigating.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, asking the question nonverbally.

As Hermione spoke, the tension slowly left her frame, “This was going to be my last assignment anyway. I’m burnt out, Malfoy. I have been for some time. But I haven’t seen Snape since Glencoe and what’s the point of staying on now… the fun is gone. I resigned today. Used the ‘wanting to explore something new’ excuse.”

Malfoy appraised her with his grey eyes, pity swirling in their depths. “You really did like him, didn’t you, Hermione?”

She sunk further into her chair at the use of her first name. She sighed, “Would you make a snarky comment if I said I did?”

“No,” Malfoy answered simply. “I am just sorry that my actions created a rift between you.”

“It’s more than a rift, it’s like a bloody bottomless crevasse.” Malfoy flinched at her assessment. She rushed to reassure him, “I will never regret helping you, Draco. I just… I guess I wanted both. To continue to be your friend and to be something _more_ with Severus. But I did not approach it correctly and I have paid for my mistake. I betrayed him by not telling him about us right from the very beginning. In his eyes, it’s as if I cast an actual Unforgivable.” Distressingly, she felt her voice growing thick, “I am unpardonable in his eyes.”

Malfoy looked at her pensively, as he twisted his hands together. “No,” he repeated. “Give him a little more faith than that.”

Hermione’s voice cracked as it wafted out into the room, “I don’t think he could ever forgive me.”

His steady gaze pinned hers. “Granger, you’re a Gryffindor. You didn’t give up on me. Don’t give up on him.”

She shook her head. “Oh, but Malfoy, you never had to forgive me. It was the other way around, remember?” Hermione smiled sadly at him.

“You are deserving of receiving forgiveness, and I want you to be -”

“Malfoy,” Hermione interrupted, raising a stiff hand. “If you say ‘happy’ next, I will assume you’ve been polyjuiced and I will hex you, Ms Szimonetta be damned.”

He relaxed back into her sofa, the mood shifting slightly. “Can’t a friend just say something nice in your house without old ladies having to be damned?”

“Very funny.” Drained, Hermione rubbed her forehead.

“Chin up, Granger, things will sort themselves out.” Malfoy dug out his mobile from his pocket and began to fiddle with it. “And I’m serious about giving Uncle some time,” he said without looking over at her. “By the end of the year he could very well be swish and flicking you, if you know what I mean.”

Hermione laughed in spite of the ridiculous prediction. Malfoy’s responding smirk was feral, and very Slytherin. It would have made her take pause in almost any other circumstance but today… she was just too emotionally fatigued to care if he was plotting. Malfoy had seemed certain that Snape would eventually forgive her. Hermione, while knowing that it was futile, couldn’t help but wonder if there really was a glimmer of hope for a future friendship with Snape.

\---

Severus returned to work a week after Glencoe. Although time had passed, he still felt deeply wounded by both Granger and Draco’s betrayals. He had thought a week off, convalescing at home, would have dulled the edges of his anger and grief. It hadn’t. If anything, the isolation and lack of routine made things worse. Severus hadn’t slept well, barely ate, and found no pleasure in his independent projects. Upon his return to the Ministry, his skin itched in apprehension. Severus would continue to avoid Hermione as long as he could. He wasn’t sure if he would blow up at her again, or end up forgiving her for her transgressions. Not knowing which way his temper was leaning toward terrified him. A co-debrief with Murphy would be inevitable but he wasn’t going to seek Granger out in the meantime. As he stealthy passed her workroom, he didn’t see her untameable brown hair amongst the cubicles, and bit back a sigh of relief.

As Severus approached his cubicle, something on his desk caught his attention. It was a box, about the size that his dragonhide boots had always been shipped in. As he stepped closer, his cubicle neighbour, Porter, rose from his seat and leaned against the partition. “What do you think it is, Snape?”

“A box,” Severus muttered, shrugging out of his outer robe and laying it over his chair’s backrest.

“No, my good fellow,” Porter said as if Severus had simply misunderstood. “I meant what do you think is in the box?”

Severus, used to Porter’s incessant prying, said evenly, “Well, that would be impossible to know without opening it.”

“Yes, well,” Porter said bouncing on his feet slightly, his shorter frame barely allowing his eyes to see over the partition. “I am awfully curious.” The other man pressed his glasses up his nose.

Severus most definitely didn’t want to share what was in the box. He had an idea as to who it was from; his notebook was practically vibrating with the energy of dozens of unread messages next to it. It was predictable really: Gryffindors and their legendary insistence on arguing a point ad nauseam, even when they were wrong. For a fleeting moment Severus considered just setting his entire desk on fire and paying for the damages out of his wages. “Porter,” he drawled, intending to spook his neighbour into retreating back to his own space. “You are familiar with my past, correct?”

“Of course, but we all know that you were instrumental in -”

“Yes, yes,” Severus waved his hand, dismissing the hollow accolades. He tapped the top of the box with two fingers. “This might have something to do with my time before I embraced the light, and perhaps it’s best for you to not bear witness to it.”

“Oh,” Porter squeaked, his face growing pale. “Right. Good thinking. You’ll let me know what it is later?”

“If I can,” Snape murmured as he sat in his chair. He shrugged elegantly. “You know how things are.”

“Right, right,” Porter said as he peeked inquisitively at the box one more time before slipping out of sight.

Severus waited a beat to make sure Porter wasn’t going to pop back over uninvited. Deciding to grant himself an extra level of privacy he cast an altered _Muffliato_ , ensconcing himself in a hazy bubble.

He rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. Severus’ gaze flickered between the notebook and the box. The notebook would, more than likely, explain what was in the box, but it was also probably full of melodramatic messages he’d rather not read. However, if he wanted to appear competent at the debriefing, he was going to have to read it. Severus felt his shoulders tighten, and he rolled them trying to find relief.

Electing to treat this unpleasant experience like ripping off a plaster, Severus slapped open the notebook before he could change his mind.

_/  
G: When you arrive, I’d like to talk.  
/  
G: I can reserve a conference room.  
/  
G: Are you in yet?  
/  
G: How about now?  
/  
G: Severus, I am sorry I didn’t tell you from the very beginning. At first, I was just having fun playing the part. s things became more serious I realised that you should know about our involvement, but I felt protective of Draco. I thought he must have had a good reason for it if he never told you about what he was up to. And then I was never able to properly ask him to allow me to include you. By the time we went to Glencoe it was too late. Obviously.  
/  
G: I admit my deceit was a very self-righteous Gryffindor thing to do, but it came from a good place. Draco was in rough shape five years ago. I was worried he’d backslide if I betrayed his trust. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to betray yours.  
/  
G: Are you in and avoiding me or are you really not in yet? It’s almost noon.  
/  
G: I walked by your cubicle. Porter said he hadn’t seen you yet today. Then he went on about his investigation into an Imp infestation. When I asked why he didn’t just distract them with Wizard Crackers he acted like I had just presented him with an Order of Merlin. How do you put up with him? I’m rather sure I’d have hexed him already myself.  
/  
G: It’s time to go home. I’ll try again tomorrow.  
/_

_/  
G: Are you in?  
/  
G: Severus?  
/  
G: I asked Murphy and she said you asked for some time off. How long did you ask for?  
/  
G: I suppose it was stupid of me to ask that since you aren’t here. It’s not like you’d take this notebook home.  
/_

_/  
G: It’s Wednesday. Severus, it’s obvious I’ve hurt you quite badly because it is very unlike you to not come into work. Didn’t you come in with a case of the flu last year?  
/_

_/  
G: Severus, I am leaving you a box on Friday, unless you come in today. It will have everything you need for a proper debriefing with Murphy and your files. You were right that night on my terrace, about me needing a break. I don’t want to work here anymore. I’d like to talk with you before I leave. I hope you come in.  
/  
G: Please come in.  
/_

_/  
G: Snape, on your desk you will find a box. Enclosed is a doctored journal of a fabricated student who detailed her life at Hogwarts while Harry attended. _

_All you need to do is hand it in and file it correctly with Artifacts. Tell Murphy I found it in a production office this week while you were out. It’s untraceable, so it won’t come back to me or Draco. The simple statement that the Muggles ran across it, assumed it was fiction, and then created an app and film based on it, should be enough to satisfy the Ministry. Based on the naivety of the average Muggle media-consumer, they can be assured that there will be little suspicion that the app and film are sourced from real events. Patil isn’t as thorough as Shacklebolt so it should be enough to satisfy her to accept it at face value._

_Next, you’ll find a partner evaluation. It’s exemplary in detailing your performance. I always keep my promises, Snape. And even though I have no future plans to toll away in the Department of Mysteries anymore, I hope this gives you the leverage you need to be successful if you do._

_Don’t hex too much without me.  
/_

Severus opened the box and removed the journal. He flipped through it. As he did, he vaguely remembered this student, the impressions of her appearing on the outskirts of his mind. Severus closed the journal immediately. He should have figured that she’d cover her tracks in more ways than one. Hermione must have figured out a potion based on _Falsa Memoriae_ and had the pages dipped in it. If he’d wager, it would keep its potency for weeks, months perhaps, definitely enough time to hoodwink the Ministry into believing the ruse.

Under the journal was an impeccably filled out partner evaluation. Severus traced his name written in her tidy script with a finger. He flipped through it to find no falsehoods. She hadn’t overexaggerated his contributions nor let her emotions seep into the verbiage.

He was about to slip the top of the box back into place but his gaze caught one more thing at the bottom. Severus suddenly felt very cold and alone. Something in his chest began to writhe, twisting on itself and exploding into stinging tendrils all the way down into his belly and up his neck. Severus gasped in pain. Immediately, he began to Occlude. He dulled everything, he didn’t want to feel anything anymore. Severus violently pushed the box away to the back of his desk.

Merlin, this _hurt_. Severus stood, pushing his chair back. He stared at the box as his eyes grew dimmer and darker, as the Occlusion took hold of him and his senses. Severus leaned on the desk with one hand and rubbed his chin roughly with the other. When he had done a sufficient job of muffling his inner turmoil he snatched the evaluation and journal. As Severus stalked to Murphy’s office he briefly considered following through on his initial threat to set fire to his desk, and therefore the box and its contents.

He didn’t want to return to the box on his desk. Not while it held his copy of _Love Does Not Stop at Red Lights_.

\---

_Well_ , Draco thought as the door shut in his face, _it was a good thing I cast Silencio_. He heard his godfather curse on the other side of the threshold over the disappointing thud the bewitched door made rather than the expected satisfying slam. Draco waited a beat before he slipped his wand out of his sleeve. A gentle wave and the door unlatched and opened inward. He took a steadying breath, and nudged the door with his toe. A lazy hex came spinning around the frame. It was deflected easily.

“Really, Uncle?” Draco called from behind the door. “Haven’t you had enough target practice, lately?”

Snape’s dark baritone rippled out into the corridor. “It was only a warning, Draco. The next time I won’t miss.”

“No, I suppose if that were to happen, I'd have doubts as to your reflexes,” Draco easily volleyed back.

“Is this,” Snape drawled, “a visit of actual importance or are you here to continue your lies to me?”

“Ouch,” Draco muttered as he toed the door open a little further. “Have some faith in me, please.”

“I admit, I have wondered lately if I have misplaced it.”

Draco didn’t respond, letting the words settle in the space between them. It was obvious that his godfather was hurting over what he considered to be a deep betrayal. By tradition, Malfoys don’t grovel but he might very well have to make an exception here. Especially, if on the scale of Snape’s wrath, his side was tipped lower than Granger’s. Draco pushed the door the rest of the way open. He scanned the dark flat, and was relieved to see that nothing seemed out of sorts. His Uncle was sitting rigidly in a plush chair near the door leading to the courtyard. “Is the dark really necessary?” he asked as he nonverbally strengthened his shield. Draco wasn’t daft, and he didn’t want to be caught completely unaware if his godfather had decided to teach him a lesson.

“It fits my mood,” was the reply. “As if that isn’t obvious.”

“Oh no, it is rather obvious,” Draco agreed quickly. “I just wonder, if perhaps, it’s a bit immature.”

“Draco -” Snape growled.

Draco stepped fully into his godfather’s flat and closed the door behind him with his foot. Despite the danger it presented to himself, Draco couldn’t resist in baiting the other man. “Now, Uncle. I know you wouldn’t hurt me, your own _godson_. So, your threats mean very little.”

Snape’s voice could have withered an entire vine of Mistletoe. “Not every hex leaves physical scars.”

“Mother would be disappointed -”

Snape interrupted immediately, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Now, Uncle -” Draco began as he took a step into the lounge.

Snape snapped out of the chair to his full height. He took several steps closer to loom menacingly over the shorter man. “Tell me why you came before I send you back to your Manor in less than one perfectly polished piece. And if it has anything to do with Hermione -”

“Ah!” Draco exclaimed, eyes glittering in the dark room. “It’s Hermione now, is it?” He heard Snape’s clenched jaw crack. Ignoring the waves of anger wafting off his godfather, Draco continued on, “You know, she is quite the -” but he was interrupted by a surprising warning shrouded as a demand.

“If you end that sentence with anything less than a positive description I will -”

“My goodness,” Draco said, teeth flashing with his smile. “You are quite fond of her aren’t you, godfather?”

There was only silence from the other man. While Draco knew that he had unearthed a raw nerve, he was also satisfied that he was able to goad his godfather’s true feelings on the matter out into the open. To be completely honest, he was glad he did. Granger had taken Snape’s condemnation quite badly. If Draco could plant a seed of forgiveness here and now, maybe he could at least get them to be amicable towards each other again. Draco kept steady eye contact until Snape finally broke their stand-off by turning to pace around the space. His godfather now safely occupied, Draco finally entered into the lounge properly and lowered himself onto the sofa.

“Again,” Snape ran a hand through his loose hair as he marched to the area in front of the empty hearth. “Why have you come exactly?”

“It wasn’t her fault, you know,” Malfoy said softly, as if he was making simple Sunday Dinner conversation. “None of it, actually.”

“No,” Snape muttered, crossing in front of Draco. “She explained that you ran into each other one day after you had -”

“Another spectacularly bad interview, yes. People certainly weren’t very accepting then. Even now, it’s still forced politeness.” Draco shrugged, rolling the feelings of rejection down his back. “She saved me that day. I was ready to give it all up. She gave me the means to pursue a second chance.”

“I could have helped you.” Snape’s voice dropped low, “I did help you.”

A ribbon of irritation was laced in Draco’s undertone, “Do you realise how demoralising it is to ask for help all the time, Uncle? This was my chance to stop finally asking for handouts.”

Snape sighed, coming to a halt in front of him. “But was this the only viable option the two of you came up with? Something that flies so obnoxiously in the face of the Statute of Secrecy?”

“I trust she gave you the doctored journal?” At Snape’s nod Draco continued, “Good. That is the source material for everything. Wizarding and Muggle laws overlap a lot more than people realise. Swish and Flick is technically a parody. Which means it’s protected. And therefore I am protected. There is not any way to trace any of this back to me or Granger. We’re knee-deep in aliases.” He cocked an eyebrow in challenge. “You probably weren’t even able to dig very deep into the company.”

“No, it was basically a dead-end from the start.” Snape groaned before he snarled, “Rodoca Flamy.”

Draco barked out a laugh and leaned back into the couch. He gestured to himself as he exclaimed, “Yes, that’s me! The anagrams were just covers, but legally we have layers of pseudonyms. Hermione is wicked smart.” Draco didn’t even try to stop the hint of awe in his voice, “She is… she is bloody brilliant, Uncle. And without her I really wouldn’t be here.” He looked up at Snape, pointedly catching his gaze.

Shocked, Snape sat gingerly next to Draco on the sofa. He leaned on his knees, interlacing his hands. Snape spoke low, “Are you implying that you were -”

Draco cut him off gently, “There was no point in living. I was unable to provide for my family. My name was a disgrace. I had no future prospects. Until she came.” Draco looked away, focusing his gaze out the window into the courtyard.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t come to me for help.”

Draco shrugged. “I was tired, Uncle. I was tired of everything. And I was ashamed. I already had borrowed too much from you that I was unable to pay back. Granger not only gave me the funds to pursue our idea but she had the Muggle know-how to make it work. I didn’t feel forced to stay in Wizarding society like I did with the avenues you presented to me. Isn’t it a tad ironic?” Draco chuckled. “How a Muggleborn saved the Malfoy estate? Something poetic in that, I think.” He sighed, turning back to face his godfather. “She didn’t even want any compensation beyond her initial investment back. I had to finally convince her to an escrow account so if she wanted the money in the future she would have access to it. She only asked for it after you both started investigating the production. She figured her time in the Mysteries was short.”

“I still don’t think she should have -”

Draco’s hard eyes snagged onto Snape’s. His voice was cutting, “Don’t tell me you’d prefer me dead than me operating a successful and satisfying business.”

“No,” Snape said, shoulders deflating. “I just don’t appreciate being blindsided.”

This was the opening that Draco had been waiting for. It was time to tend to this rift between two people he cared deeply about. “Granger mentioned that. She was very upset about the entire thing.”

“She could have said something to me.” Snape cut his gaze away from Draco’s.

“And if Hermione did?” Draco asked. “Would you have been somehow more understanding weeks ago?” Draco shook his head knowing the answer. “Besides,” he said. “It wasn’t her confession to make, was it? I was the man behind the curtain, not she and she is ridiculously loyal.”

Snape snorted. “That is an understatement.”

The pair sat in brittle silence for several moments. “I apologise,” Draco finally said a bit stiffly, yanking the sleeves down on his suit jacket. He began to fiddle with the cufflinks. “I wasn’t truthful with you for quite a few years. Frankly, I knew you would take it badly. You did all you could to keep me out of Azkaban, even if you couldn’t save Father and I knew you’d consider a parody of the War as a personal slap in the face after all that. I didn’t want to disappoint you yet again. It was simply easier to mislead you regarding my career path.” Snape didn’t respond. Draco shrugged, releasing some of the tension running through his shoulders. “I’m happy now in my chosen career, if that’s worth anything.”

Snape’s eyes swivelled back to Draco. He gave him a look as if he was judging Draco’s level of genuineness. Finally, Snape asked, “Truly?”

“Yes,” Draco confirmed. “I run a business that provides for my family. I work with people who have no idea of my past. I am fulfilled professionally. I can walk around Muggle London without a glamour and live a good life.” Draco shifted on the sofa. “So, I ask you to not be angry at Hermione. She feels guilty over what she did. And dare I make the assumption on her part that she misses you.”

Snape bent himself forward, elbows resting on his thighs. His hair had fallen between them, covering his face. “I’m rather afraid that bridge is burnt now.”

“Perhaps,” Draco said, pouring a determination into his voice. “But she’s worth rebuilding it, Uncle. Even if it takes time.”

\---

“How is your godfather doing?” Granger asked as the pair were looking over expense reports. This task wasn’t something that Draco explicitly needed help with as he had become quite accustomed to the intricacies of Muggle economics in the past several years, but he had wanted to see his de facto partner in crime. Granger had squirrelled herself away the last several weeks—ever since she quit the Mysteries—and had appeared to be avoiding the world at large.

Prior to his visit, Draco had sent his first text to Granger’s recently purchased mobile of an aubergine followed by a question mark but didn’t get a response. He had half expected some kind of long-suffering reply but Draco did have to concede she might not yet realize what the vegetable icon truly meant. Granger could have thought he was growing senile for all he knew because she had stubbornly remained silent. Finally, Draco resorted to showing up at her flat unannounced feigning panic over numbers, and thrusting a pile of paperwork at her just to confirm that she was still among the living.

“He’s fine, Granger,” he answered as he took a sip of his tea. “Still as much of a stubborn git as you remember him.”

She breathed out a laugh. “He really wasn’t much of one, to be honest. I really did like working with him.”

Draco hummed but didn’t say anything more. Over his cup, he glanced at her sitting on the floor on the other side of her coffee table. Granger was a fucking mess. Her hair was a tangled rat’s nest piled up on her head, and she was wearing crumpled checkered pyjamas that seemed to have dried and crusted egg dribbled down the front.

“Hermione,” Draco said gently. Her head tipped up immediately, her finger marking her space on the grid of numbers. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Granger’s eyes immediately narrowed, “but when is the last time you bathed?”

She harrumphed. “It wasn’t that long ago, Malfoy,” Granger snarled, obviously offended by the question. “It was…” her expression dropped slowly. “It was… oh, Circe.”

“Granger, how about you take a shower and I make you something to eat in the meantime?”

“You don’t cook, Malfoy.”

He amended quickly, “Call for takeaway, then.” Draco leaned forward and pointed at the form. “These can wait a little while.”

While it concerned him that she didn’t put up more of a fight, Draco was thankful he didn’t have to forcibly push Granger into the shower. _Where did that fiery Gryffindor indignation go?_ he wondered as he scrolled through his phone to call the Thai place around the corner. He would give her his counsellor’s office’s number, Draco decided. Granger probably wouldn’t like it, but it would be good for her, and she wasn’t a daft moo. She would let him bully her into making the call. After all, she couldn’t continue to isolate herself like this.

\---

Later that evening Draco found himself at his godfather’s flat for a visit.

As he rose from the sofa to cross the room to the trolley that held his godfather’s impressive alcohol collection Snape asked from his chair, “Another already, Draco?”

Draco sighed. “It was a particularly long day.”

“Ah, yes, schmoozing with the rich and famous can really take it out of you, or so I’ve heard.”

Despite the jab, Draco smirked. “No, it was all business today. Granger and I had to go over some expense reports.” Was it a play of the light or did his godfather’s spine suddenly get a little straighter?

“Oh, really?” Snape asked smoothly before turning his attention to the stack of books beside him. “And how is Granger doing?” he asked without looking at the younger man. “Still her strong-willed insufferable self?”

“Well, not exactly,” Draco said carefully. Snape stilled at his answer. Interesting, Draco thought. “But you needn’t worry about her, godfather.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I don’t worry about her. I don’t even think about her anymore.”

_Sure you don’t._

\---

Four weeks passed and Draco was sitting across the table from Granger at a cafe. They were meeting for breakfast before he had to visit the production for the day. Filming was coming to an end and soon they would be in post-production. If Draco could keep things moving swiftly he could potentially have a film released during the winter hols next year. He felt a little jittery at the prospect; he didn’t like feeling nervous. I’m not doing this horse and pony show again, Draco thought as he slathered butter on his toast. Managing an app was easier with fewer moving parts and allowed him to keep to his introverted nature. Indeed, Draco was looking forward to stepping back into the life of a country-manor aristo… at least for a little while.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Granger asked as she carefully placed her coffee cup on the table.

“I’m tired,” he admitted. “This has been a monumental effort that I wasn’t quite prepared for.”

“Ah,” she said with a smirk. “It’s not easy to work for your supper, is it?”

“Very funny, Granger.” Draco bit the corner off his toast more savagely than he intended.

Granger reached across the table and squeezed his wrist in comfort. “It’ll be over soon, Malfoy, and you’ll be able to go back to breeding prize-winning peacocks or whatever it is that your family made its fortune from.”

“Mostly the labour from others’ backs.” Draco quickly clarified at the dark look Granger shot him, “We used to race Granians.”

She snorted. “Winged horses. Somehow I am not surprised.”

“Grandfather was the last stable owner. Father, on the other hand, while one to enjoy the spoils, did not have a head for business. I don’t consider myself much better but -”

“Times demanded a change,” Granger finished for him. “Yes. You’ve done good for your family, Draco. Never doubt it.”

He smirked at her. “Complimenting me now, Granger? If I were the suspicious type I’d begin to think that you were after something.”

“Always suspicious, are you?” It pleased him to see the warmth in her eyes return over the last few weeks.

“I am a Slytherin. Uncle would be disappointed if he were to hear that I was slipping.”

Granger’s eyes flicked down to his plate. “Have you seen Severus lately? How is he?” She fiddled absentmindedly with her napkin.

Draco found himself suddenly done playing this game. Both Granger and his Uncle had been remotely waltzing around each other for months, using him as some sort of grudging dance instructor. They brought up each other in every conversation; it was obvious that whatever relationship they had before, even if it was just professional in nature, was missed.

“You could ask him yourself.” Granger’s head whipped up quickly and it only confirmed Draco’s suspicions about her level of interest. “Come with me the next time I visit.”

“Oh no, no I don’t think so.” Granger turned to look out the window, her eyes becoming glassy. “He was pretty clear about how he felt three months ago.”

“Maybe things have changed, Hermione. Time heals wounds, you know.”

“As I’ve learned in therapy, time also exacerbates them,” she replied without looking at him, effectively shutting down the conversation.

 _This will not do_ , Draco decided with finality. _This will not do at all._

\---

December came breezing into London like the exhaust of an Anemoi’s chariot. Hermione tightened her blue woolly scarf around her neck as she walked down the street. She has had a busy day. She started with her bi-monthly appointment with a Squib counsellor. She was finding healthier ways to deal with her grief over Theo, which she discovered to be partially rooted in her grief over her own lost childhood. It had been a startling realisation at the time, but it made perfect sense in hindsight. Happily, she had just finished another type of therapy: retail therapy. She had been holiday shopping in Diagon Alley and was now en route to the Muggle equivalent, Leadenhall Market.

On the way, she passed a cinema with a poster in the front display of a young man holding a wand with a scar slashed across his forehead. Underneath the title, _Barry Pots & The Dark One_, was a release date of Winter 2019. Hermione smiled a little, happy for Malfoy’s continued success. He had really put a lot of effort into getting the film into post-production. But it was bittersweet. It was thrilling to trample around the sets and spy on famous film stars, but it had imploded a relationship she had grown to really enjoy.

Even though she felt like she asked after Severus often, Malfoy thankfully never seemed to mind. He said that his godfather was well, in good health, and still as acidic as usual. Hermione tried to take comfort in that. Sometimes she imagined she saw him walking through London. But whenever she swerved back for a second look, he was never there. She wasn’t even sure if Severus still worked at the Ministry. Perhaps he had finally moved on to greener pastures too. Maybe he had cut his hair and grew a moustache. The absurd thought forced Hermione to explode in titters.

“Something funny?” a familiar low voice drawled beside her.

She whipped around to face the man. “Malfoy! What are you doing here?”

“I assume the same as you,” he answered with a tilt of an eyebrow. “Shopping for the hols.”

“What do you think about this?” she asked as she tipped her head at the poster.

He shrugged. “It’s an alright likeness to Potter, I suppose. I heard he was quite upset about it.”

Hermione snorted. “Oh, he was livid alright. He filed a special acquisition form to view the notebook from Artifacts because I couldn’t tell him anything. Would you like to know what he said?” she asked with a roguish grin.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Go ahead and tell me, Granger.”

Her smile grew into something almost feral. “He said that Florence Fenton was an absolute doll to keep such meticulous records. And he wondered what she was up to these days.”

Malfoy laughed. Hermione couldn’t stop herself from joining him. Oh, she had wanted this for him for so long. Just to be able to live a life where he could laugh freely on the sidewalk in public.

After Hermione caught her breath she said, “I did mean about the film, though. How are you feeling about it? An actual film. Based on a silly idea we came up with over lunch all those years ago.”

“Oh, well, I can’t pretend to not like how ridiculously rich it’ll make me.” He extended his elbow to her and Hermione wrapped her gloved hand around it with pleasure. His grey eyes cut to hers as he continued, “And there is a certain joy in finding success after so many years of struggling.”

“You’ve come a long way, Malfoy. I’m happy for you, really.” She smiled warmly up to him.

With his opposite hand, he squeezed hers in appreciation. “Say,” he said as he gave her an inquisitive look. “I was going to get lunch at that Muggle sushi place nearby. Care to join me?”

“Who’s buying?” she teased.

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “It can be filed under a business expense, I’m sure.”

A quarter of an hour later, Hermione was harshly reminded that Slytherins do not play fair. Even though they had shared several meals throughout the years with no nefarious motives, she should have been on alert. But no, the very idea of onigiri and miso soup had her salivating before Malfoy had even finished the invitation. Perhaps it was a weakness amongst Gryffindors, she thought, to be led astray by their stomachs. She wouldn’t have accepted the invitation if she knew who Malfoy was meeting for lunch.

“Malfoy,” Hermione hissed as she stopped short in front of the hostess’ podium. She felt her hair begin to flare in panic. “You didn’t tell me you were having lunch with someone!”

“Now, now, Granger,” Malfoy pipped, ignoring her signs of distress. “Let’s not be rude.”

She attempted to get him to see reason. “Malfoy, this is - I cannot - he wouldn’t -”

Through a gritted smile he implored her, “Keep walking, Granger.”

Hermione felt like her feet were made of lead as Malfoy dragged her to the middle of the restaurant. She tried to look anywhere but at the wizard at the table. As the pair arrived, Malfoy greeted, “Uncle! Look who I found out on the sidewalk just now. And aren’t we lucky,” he said as he pressed Granger in a chair across from Snape, “that she was free for lunch?”

Even though Hermione’s gaze was firmly on her hands in her lap she could feel the force of Snape’s glare.

Malfoy pretended that this was not the awkward situation he had crafted and ordered a dozen rolls for the table. Snape must have thrown him a sceptical glance because Malfoy replied easily, “A business expense. Granger and I have already discussed it.”

Hermione raised her face and gave Severus a weak smile with a soft shrug. Snape’s dark eyes cut to her and they relaxed minutely, so quickly she’d have missed it if she weren’t paying attention, before they slid back to his godson.

“A business meeting,” he drawled in his familiar baritone. “I should excuse myself.”

Malfoy waved him off. “Oh, don’t be so rude, godfather. We won’t have to talk shop with you here. You’ve saved me from quite a boring conversation. Granger here -”

“Granger here, _what_?” Hermione asked with an edge. Her good cheer from shopping for her friends was quickly diminishing. She briefly wondered if she could return Malfoy’s gift.

“Is just the best work partner,” he said almost too quickly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Uncle?”

When Severus didn’t respond Hermione turned her head and caught him looking at her. Her eyes snagged on to his and Snape immediately turned his gaze back to Malfoy. “What?” he asked.

“I said,” a mischievous glint in Malfoy’s eyes, “Isn’t Granger an amenable work partner? I was wondering if we shared the same opinion.”

Severus turned again to Hermione, an eyebrow raised. She sputtered out, “You don’t have to answer. I certainly didn’t put him up to this.”

“You were…” he paused as if he were looking for the right word. “Adequate.”

That wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear. “Well, that is smashing to know,” Hermione replied with a bite to her tone. She turned to the man on her left. “Malfoy, this has been lovely but I must -”

Malfoy gave Snape a hard look and interrupted her, “Stay to eat, yes, I agree.”

Why was Malfoy pushing this so hard? Couldn’t he see how awkward this was? Hermione wanted to flee somewhere safer. She definitely wanted to burn Malfoy’s gift. Possibly in front of him. Severus’ opinion of her had obviously not changed with time, and frankly, she had no clue what Malfoy was trying to do with this little stunt.

Malfoy continued on, determined to keep the conversation going, “Uncle, how is your latest research?”

Snape didn’t reply, although Hermione saw his jaw tick.

However, the temptation to know proved to be too strong to resist for Hermione. “And what research is that?”

She wasn’t sure if Severus was actually going to reply but then she heard a thud from under the table which seemed to give Snape the encouragement to answer. “I’m exploring,” he said slowly, as his gaze fell back on her. “The correlation between Diricawl Lice and Vanishing Sickness.”

She saw the correlation immediately. “You think it’s the lice that is responsible for the Diricawl’s ability to Apparate?” Hermione was instantly curious at the possible avenues of this research.

A satisfied smirk crossed Severus’ face. “Not just think, Granger. I’ve confirmed it.”

Fascinated, she asked, “What made you even want to figure this out?”

He fell into an easy cadence, “My last case at the Ministry involved a tourist from South Africa who spontaneously Apparated when frightened. Naturally, he became more distressed the more he Apparated. As you can imagine, we needed to find the root cause if he wanted any semblance of his normal life back.”

“What made you think of lice, though?” she asked as she leaned slightly forward.

“He had mentioned he was at a Diricawl Sanctuary prior to his arrival. After a thorough medical exam, where the lice were discovered and removed, he stopped Apparating spontaneously.”

“And you think that Vanishing Sickness may be…” she trailed off allowing her mind to piece the puzzle together. “An allergic reaction of sorts?”

He shrugged elegantly. “The research is in its infancy but I know I’m on to something.”

“It would be a huge medical breakthrough if proven correct. Wouldn’t you agree, Malfoy?” she asked as she turned to face an empty chair. Malfoy had apparently taken it upon himself to leave when the two of them became engrossed in their conversation. She huffed. “That ruddy little ferret,” she muttered.

At that moment, the sushi that Malfoy had ordered arrived on a large long plate. Hermione ticked an eyebrow at the platter and Snape gestured with his hand. Hermione began to select pieces for herself.

After several moments of silence, Severus asked seriously, “Did he ambush you, or were you feigning ignorance?”

She gestured in the negative with her chopsticks. “I wouldn’t have done this to you. It was all him. I know your opinion of me isn’t -”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Severus warned, holding up a hand. After a pause, he said, “I understand why you helped Draco. Your aid to him should equate into a life debt, if life was fair.”

She shrugged easily as she replied, “He needed someone. Truthfully, I didn’t really think beyond that.”

“There is something I am unclear about, though,” Severus said quietly, leaning towards her.

“Oh?”

“Your motivation. You say that you did it out of the goodness of your righteous Gryffindor heart.” Hermione rolled her eyes at that assessment. “But was that it? Or was there something more?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “I would say it was a seventy-thirty split. The majority was me, once again, being an infuriating champion of the downtrodden. The remaining thirty, though? Well, it did feel particularly good to get a one-up on the Ministry, to be completely honest.” Severus nodded. After a pause, Hermione asked a bit unsure, “You’re done at the Ministry?”

Severus nodded again. “After our assignment together I found myself…” he trailed off, his gaze focusing on his plate. “Things weren’t as satisfying after that.”

“I am sorry, Severus.” She touched his sleeve briefly, seeking forgiveness. “I didn’t mean to ruin it for you.”

“If not you it would have inevitably been someone else.” His eyes flicked up to hers, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “And I’d have preferred it to be you.”

\---

Later that evening, Hermione was sitting in her cosy office in her flat. She was absentmindedly swirling a glass of red wine as she thought back to the conversation she had with Severus over sushi. She had, at first, really wanted to maim Malfoy for surprising her like that. But it had actually turned out to be a rather wonderful afternoon.

Indeed, it had started out awkwardly but she and Severus had eaten most of the sushi and ended up staying there until mid-afternoon. It was delightful and it felt like, despite the time that stretched behind them, that they had simply picked up where they had left off.

Hermione tapped the letter from Malfoy against her leg with her free hand. It was simple and to the point in his formal script:

_Do it._

_-D_

She knew exactly what he was on about. And she hoped that the wine would give her the courage she needed to follow through.

\---

Severus stood in Old Deer Park, watching several birds soar overhead. He hoped he wasn’t setting himself up for more heartache. He was tired of a life of disappointments. But Severus wanted a chance for the type of gratification that Draco seemed to have found. It was interesting that the same woman could potentially help him as well. Severus slipped a letter out of his pocket and unfolded it to read again.

_Severus -_

_I had a lovely afternoon with you. I would like to start over. If you share my feelings, meet me on Saturday at noon at the Obelisk in the park near my flat. And if you don’t, burn this and I won’t seek you out again._

_\- Hermione_

He closed his eyes and deeply breathed in the crisp winter air. It smelled of pine and frost. But there was something else there. A hint of something comforting and intriguing... warm vanilla.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you find all four references to Lena's works?  
> Chapter 3: _A Splash of Colour_  
>  Chapter 5: _The Lilac Tree, Saturdays with Rosie_  
>  Chapter 8: _Dismantle[d] the Sun_
> 
> What's next? Continuing to work on _Shite, Actually_ and participating in the SSHG Prompt Fest on Live Journal which posts in July.
> 
> My sincere thanks to everyone who has subscribed, commented, kudoed, bookmarked, or re-read this since it's initial posting on Live Journal. I genuinely appreciate you all and consider myself a fortunate writer to have you here. ❤️


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